


Love Minus Zero

by CamilleCM



Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Drama, Parents! Mondler, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-10-11 03:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20539427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleCM/pseuds/CamilleCM
Summary: The story of Chandler and Monica and their family life in Westchester―five years after the show―as they go through the little wonders, small catastrophes and life's curveballs together. A pinch of family drama, a dash of romance and a dollop of fluff.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a post-series Mondler story with the other friends with their families making appearances.  
Thanks for reading, don't hesitateleave a comment to let me know what you think  
You can find more and talk to me @MondlerCentral on Twitter.

_ **Spring 2010** _

Chandler stepped into the bathroom and undressed. The light of the window glowed, and he was startled by the pleasant warmth of an early spring morning around here. It made him think of New York and how Westchester was still recovering from a long rainy and snowy winter, and he thought of Monica. At all moments, he could predict where she was, feel her rhythms and her routine in his bones. She would already be up and running at this time, whipping eggs for breakfast here, hunting for little mismatched shoes, playing hide-and-seek with Andrew there, getting the twins ready for school now ...

His hand went to the level and he let the water pummel him a second later, cold enough at first to almost make him jump out, then enjoying the heat on his face as the stream became thicker and warmer. He closed his eyes, standing mindlessly, and a small certainty began to develop inside him, an aching longing. He wanted to be home, running around flying kites in the backyard with his sons and his daughter, and his wife smiling at his silliness from the kitchen window.

He got out of the shower, a towel around his waist, and opened the blinds. The sun pierced his eyes like swords. He knew there was nothing here for him anymore.

He closed them and dressed, before sitting down at the desk beside the bed. He opened his laptop and a moment later clicked on a video folder titled: _Andrew's Birth 10.18.2006_.

"Ow. Ow. Ow."

The sounds came before the images on the computer screen; Monica was trying to breathe deeply, looking at him for reassurance and mirroring his raspy exhales. They were in the ER after arriving at the hospital and Joey, who had convinced them to let him film the birth "as per tradition," was waiting for them. Somehow he had gotten there before them. Chandler still couldn't wrap his mind around that to this day.

"Honey?" Monica called to him, looking up from her position on the wheelchair and tightening her hand around his. "Sushi was a mistake."

He laughed at the memory. Earlier that day, they had ordered take out food when Monica got hit with a weird sushi craving. She hadn't eaten sushi during her entire pregnancy, but so close to the delivery date, a few slices of fish didn't seem to matter anymore and Chandler wasn't about to disagree with a nine-months pregnant Monica. She had woken up later in the middle of the night with stomach cramps and they couldn't decide if the pain was because of the sushi or contractions. As it turned out, she was already in labor and they had to rush out to the New York Presbyterian Lawrence Hospital, fifteen minutes away from their house, after Mike and Phoebe came to take the twins.

Chandler skipped through the video, catching frames of the events unfolding: Monica in the hospital room; their friends arriving, followed by her parents, and a couple of hours later, his parents. Then their friends and parents leaving the room; Monica's screams and grunts with Joey still following them.

"Joey, you don't have to film every single moment," Chandler had said to his friend, getting closer to the camera, his hand covering it. He had glanced back at Monica before speaking to him quietly, "This could last hours."

"Fine, fine," Joey had replied.

The footage cut to black suddenly, then minutes later, it was on again, the lens of the camera was covered by Joey's hand.

"Four centimeters." It was the voice of one of the residents that had examined his wife.

"Four? FOUR? No, no, that can't be right. Right, Chandler, please tell me it's not four?"

"Honey, it's okay. You'll get there. Remember what we said in class, babies know when they're ready to be born. You're doing great." _Thank God for those prenatal classes_, Chandler thought. He had snickered throughout all of them and it had provided endless material for quips, turning Monica temporarily blind from excessive eye-rolling. Bless them and bless those parroting expressions straight out of a wife-in-labor-101 instruction manual.

"I'm tired."

"I know. Shhh." He was trying to soothe her, as the contractions rose and fell. Chandler couldn't remember himself being so collected and calm during the birth. He would never have expected that. Then again, it was always easy to be brave with and around Monica.

Forwarding the video once more, he resumed play when he heard "Push!" repeatedly yelled by the doctor in the delivery room, and by him, trying to encourage a tired, crying Monica and alleviate the unthinkable pain she was going through. Her knuckles went white from gripping his arm until one last furious screech came out of her and one of the nurses' voices had announced, "Oh, there he is!"

A gusting, furious baby scream followed.

He watched himself on the screen, holding Monica's hand and kissing her forehead, as the doctor called to them.

"Look up. There's your baby boy!"

And there he was, his skin pink, eyes squinched shut, head perfectly bald, and wailing.

"That's my baby," Monica said between sobs. She looked at Chandler, and repeated again, as if she couldn't believe it, "That's _our_ baby." And Chandler laughed through the tears.

Minutes later, he was cutting the umbilical cord then slipped away from her side, Monica never tearing her eyes away from the table where the baby was being wiped and weighed and wrapped in a blanket. He looked at his son and helped adjust a cap over his head. "He's perfect, Monica," he said, the tears were coming hot and fast now. How could he ever have doubted one day his ability to cry when his children would be born?

Chandler clicked on the toolbar, jumping to the end of the video, and now they were in a recovery room. Monica was holding the baby, a nurse not too far away. Their friends were all there, Judy and Jack Geller by his wife's side, and his father and mother were there too, a little uncomfortable like fish out of water, Chandler noted, as he focused on them in the video. His dad, in particular, was shuffling his feet. It made him smile to realize his father was as awkward as he was in highly stressful social situations.

Chandler had scooted himself up by Monica's head. "You were amazing, honey," he said, kissing her lips softly.

"I know!" Monica answered, looking down at the baby again. "You were worth it, baby boy."

The nurse approached them with a chart. "Have you thought of a name yet?" she asked and Chandler and Monica looked at each other undecidedly.

"Well," Monica had started, her gaze focused on Chandler, "we were going to name him Daniel but I don't know—"

"He doesn't look like a Daniel," Chandler finished her sentence to which she responded with a warm smile.

"Yeah."

"We still have the back-up plan, Chandler Junior," he said, in an attempt to make her laugh.

"Oh honey, don't mock the name I picked for you," Nora Tyler Bing—amazingly attired in a sober leather sheath dress which didn't flaunt her cleavage, he noted with relief and gratitude— suddenly interjected. "In fact, it's a funny story."

"I'm sure it is, Mom, but is it the kind of funny story I want to hear in front of my friends and my in-laws?"

Then his father stepped up, dressed in a linen jumpsuit and cardigan, with his hair up in a neat, polished bun. "I think it could help, son. Your mother and I couldn't agree on a name so we rock, paper and scissored it. The winner would get to pick your first name and the loser would pick your middle name. Your mother won. Raymond Chandler is her favorite author."

"And _Muriel's Wedding_ was your favorite movie?" Chandler deadpanned.

"No," Charles Bing said, smirking. "Muriel Evans, my favorite old Hollywood actress."

"Your father thought Chandler was too straight a name," Nora said around a laugh.

"Well, I'm glad you lost."

"Chandler, if I had won, I wouldn't have given you Muriel as your first name."

"We weren't _that_ bad at parenting," Nora mused.

"If I'd won, I would have given you my middle name, which happened to be your grandfather's name too."

Chandler furrowed his brows, then his features softened as he remembered his grandfather's name. "Andrew?"

"Yes. Your grandpa was born in Scotland, in a town called St Andrews. He was named after it—his parents weren't terribly creative," Charles said. "My father and I … we didn't have the best relationship, you can imagine why. But if it was your first name, I would have named you Andrew. There are _some_ traditions I like."

"Andrew Bing," Monica whispered to Chandler. "I like it."

Chandler smiled at her then looked up at the camera. "Andrew Joseph Bing," he added, winking at Joey.

"Aw, you guys. I'm going to cry," a louder voice from the recorder came. "Hello, Joseph Bing," Joey had said as his hand waving at the baby appeared on the screen. He got closer to the baby with Chandler retreating slightly to stand beside his father.

"It's good to know one Bing is a good father in the family," Charles said in a quiet voice to him.

Chandler turned to him. "I hope so," he replied sheepishly.

"You already are a great father, Chandler." His father put a hand on his shoulder and Chandler had slightly squirmed at first before relaxing. Charles leaned and kissed Andrew's forehead. "Welcome to the world, Andrew. You're a lucky baby boy."

Chandler paused the video as he felt his chest constrict, looking at the image on the screen of him and Monica beaming in awe at Andrew in her arms—he was so scrawny, with tiny legs in a froggy newborn position, so vulnerable. Then he watched Charles on the video, staring at Chandler in adoration, looking so proud and so fatherly, maybe for the first time in his life. Chandler knew, the resentment and the old bitterness the years had built up since he was a child, were all gone at that moment.

He took a deep breath and wiped at his eyes before resuming play. In the last moments of the video, the twins were there, sitting around their mother on the hospital bed, laughing and smiling at their little brother. Jack with a serious look on his face as he slowly and with extreme care held Andrew's hand, fascinated and scared to hurt him. And Erica, already asking all kinds of questions to her mother about him.

Andrew was three now. Chandler reminisced about his first few days as a red and wrinkled baby in his arms, barely able to hold his head. Three years later, he was now able to walk and talk, learning and engaging a little more every day with the world around him, laughing at the silliness of his siblings and crying when he wouldn't get his way.

And the twins were in kindergarten.

He sighed wistfully. "You'll forget how small they were," Ross kept telling him when he often ruminated about being a father, and Chandler didn't want to believe it. Jack and Erica were an invaluable gift, Andrew was a miracle and there was an annoying truth in some clichés—time had the unfortunate tendency of flying by when you were happy.

He stopped the video and closed the computer.

This is was it. This was everything. If not the meaning of life, the meaning to his life, to hold on and never let go.

Only Monica, Jack, Erica, and Andrew.

Home.

There was no time left to waste.


	2. Pride and Joy

_ **September 2009** _

"Come on, Jackaroo, it will be fun. Erica will be right there with you in class."

"No. I don't want to go," Jack said, his chin wobbling before ducking his head under the blanket.

Chandler sighed, sensing his son approached DEFCON level 3 on the tantrum temper scale. Downstairs, Erica was already up and dressed for the big day, but Jack wouldn't get out of bed. "Jack, Mom is waiting for you, your brother and sister are already having breakfast. Don't you want some breakfast?"

Jack's head slowly appeared under the blanket, with a shy look on his face and a glint of mischievousness that said, _I won't go to school unless..._

"I do," he said in a small voice. "But I want to stay home with Mommy."

"Mommy has to go to work, and she wants you to go to school. So you can have fun and play and make friends."

Jack still looked unconvinced by his father's plea. Chandler weighed his options and changed his strategy. The usually foolproof Mommy card was letting him down. "Ok, how about you go to school with your sister, and when you come home, I'll get you ice cream, and I'll convince your mother to let you have it before dinner. What do you say, buddy?"

Chandler knew he was being played, but it was ok. He was soft-hearted and perfectly fine with it, especially when Jack's eyes widened, and a small smile tugged at his lips. The little daredevil.

"Chocolate chip ice cream?" Jack asked. There it was. His son's _Show Me The Money_ card.

"Of course. When you go to school, you only get the best ice cream."

Jack beamed an enormous smile and got up suddenly, startling his father and immediately started to take off his pajamas in order to wear his assigned outfit. Chandler laughed at his son's instantaneous transformation from tremulous little angel to a bundle of energy and enthusiasm in the blink of an eye.

Finally, Jack dressed and was ready, joining the rest of the family downstairs for breakfast.

Chandler was sitting at the table, he sipped his coffee before straightening the newspaper, trying to focus on the business section of the New York Times but unable to prevent stolen glances at Monica.

Nothing could prepare him for this day.

He was trying to hide his worry, for Monica's sake and for his own. It was one of the moments he was dreading ever since they had moved to Westchester. Watching his children grow up to become beautiful, fascinating young people was overwhelming. To be a parent was to resign yourself to experiencing a wide spectrum of fluctuating emotions all at once. One moment, he'd feel his heart swell and unable to contain so much happiness in his life, and the next one the kids would say or do something they never did before and the fleeting nature of time would break his heart then his pride and joy would mend it back together.

Naturally, with the twins starting kindergarten, Monica was even more frantic that morning than usual. She checked the kids' backpacks for what he estimated to be the millionth time, while feeding their youngest at the same time, in typical Wonder Woman fashion. Andrew looked indifferent to the importance of the day, quietly eating his fruit roll-ups.

Chandler breathed heavily, focusing on his children. After weeks of shopping for clothes, school supplies, lunch boxes, backpacks and trying to get the twins on a reasonable bedtime schedule after the carefreeness of summer, they were finally ready. Their first day of school, which felt like his and Monica's first graduation day as parents.

He knew Jack was somewhat nervous in big crowds, and Erica could be hot-headed with other kids. Although they were used to being around other children—be it in preschool, neighborhood playdates or the flock of cousins their group of friends had amassed over the years, he still couldn't help worrying about whether they'd handle the change and adapt to a new environment.

"Chandler, what are you doing? We'll be late." He heard Monica say over his shoulder as he got up and pulled the digital camera from his messenger bag.

"Capturing this historical milestone for the history books, honey. President Erica Bing and Nobel Prize Winner Jack Bing's first day in school. This picture will be worth a fortune," he replied, and she shook her head. He switched to video mode and started recording as the twins reached for their backpacks.

"Hey Jack, hello Erica. Say hi to the camera."

"Hi," said the twins in unison, clearly enjoying the shower of attention on this day.

"What day is today?" he asked as Jack reached for his Batman backpack while Erica was dragging her Dora The Explorer themed one from the kitchen to the living room, parading to no one in particular.

"School day," Erica replied.

"Right. What are you most excited about, Eri?"

Erica twirled her hair as she pondered his question. "I don't know."

"How about making new friends?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed.

"Good. That's a good one. What about you, Jack? What are you excited about?"

"Nothing," Jack said with a pout.

Chandler frowned. His son was hell-bent on giving him a hard time this morning. "There's something. I know there's something. Come on, Jacky."

"I think you know," Jack said coyly, trying to repress a smile.

"Do I? I don't think I do, dude."

"Of course you do, Daddy. I told you in secret."

"Is it making friends?"

"No."

"Meeting your teacher?"

"Noooo."

"Learning?"

Jack paused for a moment. We're getting somewhere, Chandler thought. Interacting with him was sometimes like constantly playing a version of Hot or Cold.

"No," he finally replied.

Chandler tapped his fingers on his chin. "Hmm, could it be? Wait, that's not possible …" he said with exaggerated facial expressions, making both the twins laugh. "Is it the … snacks?"

"Yes!" said Jack around a laugh.

"I knew it!"

"A guy after my own heart," said Monica, appearing behind the twins with Andrew, and kissing their foreheads. "Ok, kids. Let's say goodbye to the camera," she gestured to Chandler, prompting him about the time. "It's time to put your coats on and get in the car. We can't be late."

"Daddy, look. My new shoes!" Erica interrupted.

Chandler made puppy eyes at Monica. "How can I resist that?" He shrugged and she rolled her eyes. He started filming again as Erica showed him her sparkling new pink shoes, which made Andrew jump up and down for no reason other than sharing his sister's excitement.

After putting Andrew down in his car seat behind and the twins settled beside their brother, Chandler started the SUV. He looked at Monica at his side and gave her the most reassuring smile he could muster. "It's going to be fine," he said quietly, and she smiled back, forcibly. What he wanted to tell her was, "they still need us," but she knew that already. He squeezed her hand and she looked up at him again, and through years of friendship and love and companionship, he tried to say with one look, _be gentle with your heart and proud, they're ready and so are we and there's still so much to enjoy ahead of us._ When she brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, he knew she got all that.

During the ride, Jack stayed mostly silent playing with a Batman figure, the superhero was his latest obsession, while Erica was coming up with songs she performed at the top of her lungs, much to Andrew's delight, then kept on chatting to a distracted Jack, explaining to him how they needed to behave with the teachers and wash their hands before lunchtime and avoid any kind of fish food because of his fish allergy, all of it in a rapid-fire speech pattern that would make it hard for auctioneers to keep up with her.

After the regular story reading and comfort hugs during Andrew's preschool drop-off, they arrived at the elementary school.

"Smile, Jack. Smile for the camera!" Chandler exclaimed as Jack scrunched up his face. Erica was already beaming delightfully, standing with her brother and holding his hand at the school's entry by the playground.

Jack finally accepted his father's request and smiled while ruffling his own hair.

Monica ran to him, trying to smooth out her son's strands of blonde hair to the side. "Jack! What's the matter, sweetie?"

"I don't like it like this," he whined.

"Mon," Chandler called her out. He titled his head and raised an eyebrow in her direction. "He's smiling, it's all that matters."

Monica sighed and walked back to her husband as he started clicking the shutter.

Chandler checked the photo on the screen of his digital camera and grinned. Erica was standing proud with a full smile, a couple of lower teeth missing, her blonde hair coiffed into two neat pigtails and her steel-blue eyes shining brightly. Jack instead was smirking, Monica liked to say it was Chandler's natural lopsided smirk, but there was an impish hint in that smile and in his eyes, Chandler thought— it could only be something he picked up from Monica. He could see it from the moment Jack issued his first breath in the world and he didn't change his mind since. Biology be damned.

They asked one of the moms Monica knew from their neighborhood to take their picture with the twins, then Chandler bent a knee as Erica and Jack kissed him on each cheek—a little goodbye ritual he had with them while Monica offered the twins pencils she had made engraved with their initials: E. E. B for Erica Elizabeth Bing and J. H. B for Jack Hemingway Bing. A Geller 'first day of school' tradition, Monica claimed and added that she and Ross still kept theirs. Chandler chuckled and shook his head at the endlessly amusing dorkiness of the Geller family. It was an emotional day, there would be _many_ other opportunities to tease her about it on less loaded days.

They watched the twins walk to their classroom, hand in hand. Erica still enthralled and Jack flushed but happy. Chandler felt Monica slightly shaking and her eyes glistening, he took her hand and kissed her temple.

They had to make another stop at the school, for the parents' kindergarten orientation. After a quick, introductory PTA conference—during which Monica already made a strong case to be in charge of the _P_ part— they entered the school counselor's office to meet with Mr. Thomas.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bing, we're very happy to have your children at our school," the counselor said, shaking hands with them as they sat down opposite him. "We wanted to talk to you about Jack and Erica's situation, and how to provide the best support possible."

"Situation?" Chandler asked.

"Well, I've seen in their file that they're adopted. Not that we treat them differently, but to avoid any misunderstanding, we need to know what's your position and talk to the teacher. Do the kids know explicitly they're adopted, that kind of thing," Mr. Thomas said in a warm, crystal clear voice.

Monica made a little face. "Oh."

"We never hid from them the fact we're not their biological parents," Chandler chimed in, feeling his wife's voice slightly disappear, "we told them stories since they were babies, and they know that they didn't come from 'mommy's tummy', they have no trouble with the _A word_. Other than that, I'm not sure they do understand explicitly what adoption is."

"It's generally accepted that kids at a school-age start to understand more complex concepts, but it's up to you whether you'd like to revisit the discussion," Mr. Thomas said.

This time, it was Chandler who looked at Monica with his brows furrowed, he could see the wheels in her head turning, trying to figure out the best way and moment to talk with the twins.

"There's no pressure from us. But this year, there are going to be family trees assignments for example. We want to prevent any misunderstanding."

"I guess it's time to have the big 'A' talk with them again," said Monica, glancing at Chandler searching for his opinion and he agreed with a nod.

* * *

Once in Manhattan, they separated and Monica agreed to pick up the kids from school as Chandler was notified of a late afternoon meeting by his assistant, Johnathan, who met up with him before stepping inside his office.

"Hershey's, huh? I thought they were going to meet with the partners," Chandler told him, walking down the glass halls of Young & Partners, the advertising agency he had joined six years earlier.

"There's a board meeting of the equity partners."

"There's always a board meeting. In the morning, in the afternoon, you really have to wonder how many times a board needs to meet?"

"Well, it depends on―"

"That was a rhetorical question, Jonathan."

"Steve said, and I quote, times are tough, and we need the big guns to keep our big shot clients."

"You know, that's just my luck. Starting my first year as creative director during the worst recession of our country's history in a century."

"With all due respect, Mr. Bing, you went from intern to junior copywriter to creative director in the span of six years. Can you really complain?"

"No." Chandler nodded in agreement. "I've gotten cockier too in six years, haven't I?"

"Again, with all due respect … yes?"

"Fair," Chandler agreed. "Set up the meeting, I'll be in my office but I have to run an errand first."

Chandler settled at his desk and answered a few emails, before going out, taking his digital camera with him. He came back with developed photos taken in the morning. He picked up an empty frame from one of his drawers and put inside of it the picture of him, Monica, Erica and Jack taken in front of the school. He ran his thumb over the picture, and it seemed to hit him like a brick. The delayed realization they were getting big and growing up, and it hurt. He always thought that saying which referred to being a parent as a heart running outside your body was a little overwrought―life was so busy it rarely afforded him time to reflect on their children growing up, but on such days, on what felt like momentous occasions, the sayings were painfully resonant.

He looked at Erica, as ever the effervescent child, already charismatic at five years old. She loved singing and performing to anybody willing to listen or unwilling for that matter—never faltering over any of the words at birthday parties and playdates, and easily outshining all the fidgety kids. She was tightly clasping Jack's hand, taking charge and care of her brother was one of her favorite pastimes. Sometimes he looked younger than her despite his twin sister coming into the world a few minutes later than he did. Chandler didn't have a single doubt where her bossy streak came from and it made him proud and happy. She would run a corporation one day, he often joked, and he almost always meant it.

While Erica could be awfully sure of herself, Jack simply shrugged it off, not seeming to mind or be affected by it. He just was that kind of kid―sweet and gentle, rarely throwing tantrums but rather close-mouthed whenever he got angry. In fact, if Erica loved voicing her every thought, with Jack, it was all in his face. When he was upset, he'd get terribly obstinate, turning his anger inward, his face freezing or hardening. It frustrated Monica to no end, she couldn't help but try to jostle him out of it.

He smiled to himself, there was so much of themselves in each of Erica and Jack, even if they weren't biologically theirs. Their expressions, their mannerisms. Erica's mad looked exactly like Monica's mad, Jack's sad looked exactly like his father's sad, Erica would bite her lip just like he did whenever she felt proud of herself, and Jack's look of delight was exactly like his mother's, with the slight blush and the scrunched up nose. It never failed to make his throat tighten a little.

He remembered those first few weeks with the twins, watching them when they were lying face to face, and already feeling they were locked into a relationship no one else could penetrate. It was so unfamiliar to his only child experience, and he couldn't help a pang of envy. When he was little before his parents' divorce, tired of talking to his imaginary friend, he had pestered them for a baby brother or sister and they'd simply answer either with a shrug or a snicker. 'No, darling,' his mother would sweetly reply to him.

He could never get enough of watching his twins interact with each other, communicating in a way no one else could understand before they even started talking.

These thoughts accompanied him during the meeting with the executives from Hershey's. All he had to retain from the meeting was a new product and a campaign for Valentine's Day as he took the train from Grand Central to Pelham Station, feeling physically and emotionally drained at the end of the day. The half-hour commute between Manhattan and their home was one of the main reasons they had picked Pelham in Westchester. The neighborhood was on the rise when they had moved in, still an undiscovered gem just right outside New York, but with excellent public schools and a pedestrian-oriented culture, it quickly became one of the most sought-after neighborhood suburbs for New York professionals looking to settle down with their families.

They both loved it, Monica loved the architecture, the markets and the parks. Chandler loved the cultural scene—he had explored new creative passions thanks to his job, volunteering at the town's fine arts film center. Lo and behold, he even enjoyed after-work social events and made new friends in the industry by playing at the Golf Country Club.

It was such a fun place to raise kids: quaint streets for them to ride their bikes, parks and lakes close by, girl scout and boy scout clubs, theaters, Little League baseball fields. It was the ideal place for the childhood he dreamed to offer to his children, the kind he never got to experience as a kid himself.

Settled in his train seat, he took out his phone and texted Monica.

⸻ _In the train on my way home. Did you make it ok?_

Her response came a minute later.

⸻ _Yes, we're home. The twins are playing. Andy's a little cranky. See you soon. Love you._

⸻ _Good. I have a surprise for them. Love you too._

When he got home, the low sun was still shining on Westchester, the sign of a pleasant and warm Indian summer day coming to an end. Chandler took out his jacket and put his bag over the kitchen counter.

"Anyone home?" he called out as he drank from a glass of tap water.

He looked over the kitchen window to find Jack, Erica, and Andrew in the backyard playing soccer with their mother. He laughed as he watched Erica trying to teach her little brother how to properly kick the ball and Andrew almost falling over as he did. Monica was close by, supervising and he suspected, worrying he might hurt himself. She had learned to hide her anxious nature around the kids to let them enjoy themselves, and to anyone else, she might have seemed fine, but not to him. He felt a little proud of her and smiled when she hugged Andrew after his failed attempt. The kids were having a blast, and it was because of her.

Although she never considered herself to be a fun person—and he, more than anyone, loved teasing her about that—she knew how to make things fun for their children, having Jack and Erica giggle before he could count to ten most times. She always had a way with kids but watching her with their own kids was a sight to behold.

He leaned against the backyard door, with the bucket of Ben and Jerry's ice cream he brought on his way home. Monica spotted him and smiled, carrying Andrew in her arms. "That's your surprise?" she asked rhetorically as she kissed him on the lips.

"I'm trying to be the good cop parent," he teased.

After a moment, Jack finally caught sight of his dad and ran to him. "Daddy, you're home!"

"I am, kiddo. Having fun?"

"Yes! Oh, ice-cream. Can I have it, Mommy?"

Monica hesitated and sighed after looking at her husband's pleading look. "Sure, honey. Just a couple of spoons before dinner and you can have some more for dessert, all right?"

Jack clapped his hands and was soon joined by an out-of-breath Erica who jumped on her father, tightly hugging him. Erica was so full of affection for him, and he could never get enough of it.

"Did you like big kids' school?" he asked as he put her down.

"Yes!" They both exclaimed at the same time.

Chandler breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good because you get to go tomorrow."

Not deterred, the twins screamed in delight. His eyes narrowed as he looked questioningly at Monica.

She shrugged. "Jack loved it, he wants to learn more things."

"Wow. I didn't expect that," Chandler said, studying his son, the anxious look on his face from this morning a distant memory by now.

"And Erica made some friends already."

"Huh. So it went well. I guess we were worried for nothing," he said.

"You were worried?" Monica asked with a sheepish smile.

"Yes, deadly worried," he said, grinning at her. "Did I hide it well?"

She laughed. "Not really. But I know it was for me." She handed him Andrew who was stretching his arms towards his father. "Thank you, it helped," she said softly.

Chandler smiled as he held Andrew and nuzzled his head. "What about you, buddy? Did you miss your brother and sister today?"

"No!" he shouted, making Chandler laugh.

"Tell us how you feel, am I right?"

"Daddy, I want to play with Erica."

Chandler dropped Andrew who immediately ran to play with his sister outside. He stretched and yawned as Monica looked at him with a sympathetic expression.

"Long day?" she asked, hugging him from behind and resting her chin on his shoulder.

He held her hands over his chest and squeezed them, turning his head to kiss her. "Long day."

After the kids were fed and bathed, Chandler took over bedtime story duty in the twins' room. Once they drifted off to sleep, he brought a sleepy Andrew to his room and put him to bed, with Kenny nestled to his cheek. Andrew had a shelf full of the finest stuffed animals a child could dream of, but his love for Kenny The Kangaroo never wavered―he'd mumble "Kenny" instead of telling his parents he wanted to go to bed, because Kenny to him meant sleep.

Chandler sat on the chair next to the bed and watched his son fall deeper to sleep. Sometimes when he couldn't sleep himself, he crept into Andrew's room to sit on the chair and just watch him, as if to make sure he was real.

He remembered the moment Monica found out she was pregnant. In the spring of 2006, Jack and Judy had decided to celebrate their 39th wedding anniversary with a lavish party in a New York City reception hall, because they had already planned to spend their 40th year of marriage vacationing in Hawaii. Chandler had noticed Monica not eating much and looking pale because of a lingering cold. She hadn't told him at the time but when the sickness turned into nausea at the mention of food, she started putting things together and went out discreetly to buy a pregnancy test. As usual when all their friends met again, with the Geller extended family present, the night dissolved quickly into chaos—Rachel was about to tell Ross she was offered the high-executive job she longed after by Gucci, meaning a move to the suburbs and her husband's 'Scarsdale life plan' was unlikely; Joey, visiting from L.A. had girl trouble when he fell in love with his neighbor, Alex, and a pregnant-with-her-second-child Phoebe was testing Mike's remarkable patience.

Chandler had felt anxious all evening, trying to handle the twins when he noticed Monica avoiding him. He went looking for her and when he found her in the bathroom, she was crying with the pregnancy test in her hands.

They had left the party early and went home. Monica's first reaction had been complete denial, she couldn't stop crying and took eight other pregnancy tests before she could begin to entertain the idea of them having naturally conceived a child.

He had cried with her all night and liked to refer to that day as 'Sobfest 2006'. Monica had finally made her parents cry out of happiness, albeit a few weeks later when they felt confident enough to announce the good news.

Before that glorious day, they had started to look into the logistics of adopting another child. He felt they had grieved their infertility and moved past it into a new phase of life.

It probably wasn't until Andrew was born, on October 18th, 2006—as chance would have it, he shared his birthday with his uncle 'medical marvel' Ross—that they truly allowed themselves to celebrate Andrew's birth as the unbelievable gift it was to them.

Chandler smiled. All of his children's arrivals in the world were special in some way. Mix-ups, surprises, miracles. The fates conspiring to gift them to him and Monica.

He left the room with Andrew deep asleep, the stuffed kangaroo he worshipped nestled to his cheek. He walked to the master bedroom, hearing Monica busying herself with her night routine in the bathroom. He picked up a book and slid into bed, fighting heavy eyelids when Monica came out. She sat on her side of the bed and took off her robe then turned around to find Chandler staring at her while yawning.

"I've never felt so many conflicting emotions," Chandler said in a whisper.

Monica grinned. "You look tired, honey," she teased.

"I'm never tired for _that_."

"I noticed," Monica added as she scooted inside the bed next to Chandler. He turned to drape his arms over her as she curled close to him.

"I think the twins are braver than I am," she said softly, her eyes half-closed.

"Oh, they're definitely braver than _I am_," Chandler said, moving closer to kiss her shoulder. "Today went well. They seemed happy."

"I know. I'm happy too. A little sad but really happy."

Chandler stroked her arms and continued kissing her neck until he suddenly stopped, his eyes wide open.

"What?" Monica asked.

"I just remembered … You know, we should send an update to Erica."

"Oh."

Chandler winced; the subject was painful to him but even more to Monica. They had opted for open adoption because it was the healthier option. After meeting with Erica and after she agreed to pick them as parents, it had gone so well. Chandler had noticed the instant connection between Monica and Erica, and because of that, he was the one to suggest for their daughter to be named after her birth mother. The following years, even with Erica in Ohio, they kept in touch. Sending pictures and even scheduling a visit when she came to New York.

But she suddenly cut ties with them after her last visit two years ago. Ever since, their calls weren't answered, their emails with updates, videos and pictures left without a reply.

It was particularly frustrating because it happened just when the twins were beginning to understand and ask questions and they had agreed from the start it was in their best interest to let them know their story fully and truthfully.

Monica didn't like talking about it anymore. Chandler suspected she felt hurt, of course, but she also took it as a form of failure on her part, wondering what she had done wrong.

They stopped trying to call her, but agreed to keep sending some important email updates, reminding her she could still contact them.

"I'll do it," Chandler said when he felt Monica's body stiffen at the mention of Erica. He kissed her again and stood up. He reached for his laptop and sat on the comfy chair by the fireplace.

He opened his email box and started typing.

...

**from: Chandler Bing**

**to: Erica Hayward**

**Subject: The twins' first day of school**

_Dear Erica,_

_The twins started kindergarten today. Eri was very excited, Jack was nervous but it went well and they came home happy, looking forward to going back again tomorrow._

_Here are some pictures we took of them this morning at school and a video I took before leaving home._

_You can call us at our home phone number, our personal numbers are unchanged._

_Erica, if you're reading this, please know we're always open to schedule a visit. We'd love to hear from you and for the twins to see you again one day._

_Take care,_

_Chandler and Monica._

...

Chandler hesitated before finally bringing himself to click on send. He sighed, parenthood was hard enough, and adoption added a layer to that. It could be messy at times, and imperfect. Although, ultimately, it was worth every hurdle.

He thought about the promise they had made to Erica, the commitment to be the best parents they could be for two babies who needed a home. He remembered his own plea to her, begging her to pick them and finally give Monica everything she dreamed of.

If there was a chance to recover any kind of communication with her, he couldn't deprive the twins of that opportunity.

He drifted off a few more minutes, lost in his thoughts when he heard a low alert sound.

A new email arrived in his email box.

A reply from Erica.

* * *


	3. A Life's Work

Monica was a chef set in her habits, which took anybody approximately five minutes into working with her to realize. She had organized her time and her space the way she liked them. She had a routine, a certain way of doing things, from which she never deviated. Her system was tried and tested—at Iridium, at Café des Artistes, at Alessandro's and even in a diner with its excruciating lunch shifts and lesser regards to quality. It didn't matter if she worked at the fanciest Manhattan restaurant or a place that served Howdy Doody and James Beans.

And now, as The New Yorker restaurant editor, Robin Raisfeld stood there with a notebook in hand, for a profile about her to be published in the October 2009 edition of the magazine, doing a tour of her kitchen, lingering for a second here and there, she wondered if he_ got it_. That she wasn't a zealot, that her supernatural quest for perfection was her mark, the touch which separated Javu from every other restaurant on this side of the island.

"How would you describe your cooking style?" The journalist asked, with no preamble as he pressed record on his phone's voice recorder.

Monica scratched her jaw, sitting on the other side of her desk in her office. "I like honest, real, straightforward food made with the highest quality ingredients possible. The adage is true, you can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. Elegant food can only be made out of high-quality products."

She flashed him a smile, trying to hide her nervousness. The journalist didn't flinch. Monica knew these kinds of interviews could make or break the reputation of establishments. There were too many people—food critics, self-proclaimed foodies, food bloggers—upon hearing of one slightly off smell or a chef with a bad reputation, ready to declare a restaurant was "overrated", or "not as good as it used to be". Good press was everything in the business, a detail they forgot to tell you about in culinary school.

"The restaurant industry is a notoriously tough business. How do you handle the challenges of being the executive chef of a Manhattan restaurant and being a mother of three?" he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I didn't know we were doing personal questions," Monica blurted out suddenly. In the matrix of the fine dining industry, every little detail could bring down a temple, but she didn't expect her personal life to be under the microscope.

The journalist looked up from his notebook. "Lauren said it was ok."

A pause followed. "Oh well, then …" Monica trailed off, before clearing her throat. "Of course, it's not easy when you have a marriage and kids. But being a restaurateur is never easy." She scrutinized his reaction and realized he seemed underwhelmed by her answer.

Before he started writing down notes again, she added, "It's a challenge but you work around it. When my twins were little babies, they were often at the restaurant, the food-storage bins acting as their cribs and playpens, and when I gave birth to my youngest son, the restaurant closed for renovation work, that time off was welcome and I now feel I am the best version of a chef I can be. Family time is non-negotiable for me and my husband―it's a team effort and a lot of organization. I want to make sure I'm home to put the kids to bed, bathe them and cook for them a few days a week. It takes a village and I learned to delegate, we are thankful for great friends, family, and a great babysitter. Most of all, I'm lucky to have an amazing and helpful husband."

Monica studied the interviewer's face as he nodded, seemingly satisfied and wrote down some notes. He tapped his pen on the notebook and she felt her heart rate sync-up with the rhythmic sound.

"You mentioned Javu undergoing important renovation work under new management and with the help of prestigious architects. Since reopening, it's been a strong contender for a Michelin star, and it's now on Zagat's latest guide edition. Do you feel the restaurant has reached a new level of excellence and it's a reward for your work?"

_Don't brag, stay humble, _Monica could hear Lauren's cautionary words ring in her head. "I would lie if I said I don't like my work getting appreciated, but it's most importantly an appreciation for the whole team. Awards are good for the business and they're good for team morale. Ultimately, like Michelin stars, they don't go to the chefs but to the restaurants and that's fitting."

The journalist smiled appreciatively and Monica internally sighed of relief. He went on to ask a few other questions, related to the restaurant which Monica felt comfortable answering. He left a while after, and she followed him outside of her office. She was met at the door by the restaurant's PR consultant, Lauren Barkley.

"I just tested the waters with Rob, you nailed it!" Lauren enthusiastically said.

Monica ignored her ardor, her brows furrowed. "What was that with the personal questions?"

"Monica, it's a profile. It's literally titled _Up Close And Personal With Chef Geller_."

Monica crossed her arms. "Would he ask those questions to a chef who's a father?"

"Probably not. But it doesn't matter, journalists love some human interest stories. And your story about the babies in the food storage bin? Jackpot! How did you come up with that, it's genius."

"I―I didn't come up with that, it happened! Ugh, why do we even have a publicist?"

"Oh honey, if all restaurants hired publicists, they wouldn't have the life expectancy of a goldfish in a bag."

Monica sighed, she gave herself the time to think over the profile and came to the conclusion the personal questions weren't so bad, after all. Maybe she could set an example in the industry. Maybe her parents would read it and be proud of her. Her father, who once told her he was glad she wasn't the type to try and have it all, would have to eat his words. She tried and she did truly have it all, through bad jobs, firings, hostile working environments, heartbreaking break-ups, and bad relationships.

Now, she had entered her forties and never felt better. She would never go back, to before Chandler, before the twins, before Andrew. There was a tinge of sadness and nostalgia for the days when she could see her best friends every day. They hadn't drifted away, but each of them had their own little life going. They didn't see them often, except for Phoebe and Mike. The couple had moved to New Rochelle, a few miles from their neighborhood, shortly after Phoebe got pregnant with her first daughter, Lily. They would see each other every week at least, either through playdates with the kids or their traditional couples night.

Joey had an established career in Los Angeles and visited on holidays and big occasions such as the births of Phoebe's daughters, Ross and Rachel's wedding and Andrew's birth.

And finally, though Rachel and Ross were geographically close, still living in the city, it was harder to see them regularly after Rachel got the high executive job at Gucci she coveted for years. The couple barely ever left Manhattan, Rachel was focused on her career, eager to overcome the setbacks she endured after leaving Ralph Lauren, which was only fair to Monica. She had given up on Paris for Ross. Her best friend and brother had come a long way since, learning to listen to each other and compromise. She often wondered if they'd have another child but Rachel was busy with long hours at work and Ross seemed happy to teach at NYU and take care of Emma and Ben, satisfied with their life in the Upper West Side.

They still had the odd over-dramatic fight, prompting long phone calls—usually Rachel—and one of them sleeping on their couch for the night—usually Ross—but whenever they fought, no one did anything stupid and she considered that to be massive progress for the two of them.

After almost losing Rachel to Paris, her brother had turned a corner. He had the love and family he always dreamed of and as a result, he was a lot more subdued and became more flexible and appreciative. She smiled silently, it was the same for her when she started dating Chandler and that's how she knew this time, it was going to last for Ross and Rachel.

Thinking of her husband, she instinctively took out her phone to text him.

• • • _The interview went well. I think? I'll tell you later. The photoshoot is this afternoon, wish me luck._

She went to the locker room to dress in her chef's uniform, the magazine wanted pictures of her in the kitchen. As she was adjusting her toque, she felt her phone buzzing in her pocket.

• • • _You'll do great, honey. You're the hottest chef in New York._

She smiled and quickly typed a reply.

• • • _Only in New York?_

• • • _Oh sorry._

She waited a couple of minutes for an answer before the phone buzzed again.

• • • _Hottest chef in the tri-state area._

She laughed at her husband's silliness and replied.

• • • _You're an idiot._

He didn't take long to answer.

• • • _But I'm your idiot. Don't think it'll get you out of this marriage._

• • • _All right, I'll keep you around._

• • • _Thank you. You don't need luck,__ you'll be stunning. I might be considered the hot one in our marriage but I think we've established you're the photogenic one._

Monica grinned, picturing his sarcastic voice in her head as she read the text; she quickly sent _I love you _to him and turned off her phone before going to the kitchen where the camera crew was waiting for her.

* * *

When she made it home, Monica took a look at her front yard, assessing the damage inflicted by three hyper kids coming home from school. She cringed but knew she was way too exhausted to do anything about the clutter, the bikes, and the multiple dollhouses. Monica realized that while she could have it all—the dream job, the lovely husband and the beautiful kids—a clean house at all times was asking too much of the universe.

Chandler often teased that she had gone soft with age. The truth was, there was simply no time left to be a neat freak anymore. After the kids and Chandler, her job and her friends, the house was what she loved the most, and it was clamoring for attention just as much. She couldn't keep up with it as if she were a housekeeper out of an old English novel, or actually, as she used to in their New York apartment when life was less busy and frantic.

She took a look at the exterior of the house before stepping inside. It was her masterpiece, her decorating pet project during her maternity leave with the twins. It was immaculate like something out of a magazine spread—she kept some of the mid-century vintage furniture she had carefully cultivated in the apartment and the original art and added funky light sconces decorating the walls, more contemporary furniture, pristine kitchen counters, a new fridge, and a new couch, the old ones ending their days in the basement.

It wasn't so bad. She noticed that Chandler definitely tried to clean things up before she came home and loved these unremarked gestures of kindness from him. Her house was still beautiful and warm at its messiest state, the kids were healthy and happy, and her husband was the most understanding and loving person she knew. It was worth every sore muscle and every stepping on a LEGO incident.

"Erica! Jack! Dinner's almost ready. I know you're watching TV. You're going to have to turn it off. Five minutes!"

Monica heard Chandler from the hall and laughed. He nicknamed her Wonder Woman but on the days she ran late at work, which was more often than she liked, he'd turn into Super Dad.

She looked around in the living room, and indeed the twins were glued to episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants, not paying attention to her entrance. She went to find him in the kitchen, feeding Andrew his dinner. Chandler turned as she was leaning against one of the kitchen cabinets. He grinned at her while holding a fork to Andrew's mouth.

"Hey honey," he said, still holding a big smile. "What's going on?"

"Just admiring my perfect husband with my perfect children in my perfect house."

His smile grew bigger, and he was about to speak, probably a joke or a quip instead of just accepting the compliment, when Erica and Jack burst joyously into the kitchen.

Of course, she was aware that life wasn't perfect. Exhaustion had become a permanent state, grumpiness, bad days were part of the package but all that really mattered were Andrew's shining blue eyes and rosy-cheeked face when he was happy, Erica and Jack getting excited at the sight of her and calling, "Mommy! You're here!" in high-pitched voices, dragging at her arms, telling her stories about their day at school. In those moments, she couldn't care less about perfection.

She held the twins close, feeling the familiar squirm of their arms and legs, wincing as their little feet trampled on hers. She missed them so much. A couple of hours apart, it was nothing, it should be nothing, but as she clasped them tightly to her, it felt like ages, like she missed out on too much: did Jack grow a couple of inches? Did Erica's hair go from platinum blonde to sandy gold? From where did this new little scar on her arm come from?

Erica and Jack took their seat at the dinner table, side by side, talking in that almost-secret twin language they had, with voices overlapping yet somehow understanding each other perfectly. Monica turned to Chandler who was cleaning Andrew's mouth after he ate the spaghetti. She was staring wistfully at their youngest, and Chandler noticed straight away—her imploring gaze, her sharp inhale, he could pretty much tell from her expression alone when she was too emotional to talk. "Honey, everything all right?"

"Yes, I just … I missed the kids today."

"I know."

"Do you think I spend enough time with them?"

"What?" Chandler was genuinely shocked and surprised.

"I had this nightmare where Jack, Erica, and Andrew are all grown up and robbing a bank together and in the news, a true-crime expert would say 'family and friends trace the start of the Bing children problems to their mother, a shadowy presence in their life, who was barely home after they came back from school and missed dance recitals and playdates' and then I wake up. It must mean something."

Chandler laughed and stood up to hug her from behind and kiss her cheek. "That's ridiculous, honey. If our children robbed a bank, they would be too smart to get caught, and they'd get the idea from me," he joked, trying to make her smile. He turned her chair to him and dropped to one knee. His voice too dropped a few levels. His sweet, honest voice, Monica thought, smiling silently.

"Mon, look at me. You come home late a couple of days per week, so what? You never missed a dance recital or an important soccer game. You're there when they need you, and what matters is that you make every moment with them count. They love you so much. Right, guys? She's the best Mommy in the world."

Monica melted in his comforting arms, closing her eyes until she heard a small voice call out, "We love you, Mommy." It was Erica's tender voice.

"Love you, Mommy," Jack followed, almost shrugging at how obvious his father's statement was.

Alerted by the commotion, Andrew joined the chorus. "I love you the mostest."

The sweetness of their words was so biting that tears jumped to her eyes. She reached to a paper towel to wipe them away. "I'm a mess."

"No, you're just tired," Chandler assured her. "I'll bathe the kids and put them to sleep. You deserve a little rest and I won't accept any objection," he added, kissing her sweetly.

"Okay," she replied in a small voice and wondered again at her perfect husband and how lucky she was to have him by her side.

* * *

The next day, Monica took the opportunity of a free afternoon to clean the house—at least she could enjoy a decluttered, organized home for a couple of hours until three little hurricanes came home from school and destroyed everything on their way. Phoebe called and interrupted her, she was in the neighborhood on her way back from work. By cheer advantage of proximity, they often met when Monica had a day off and Phoebe would drop by in between her appointments in Manhattan.

They met at their usual place, a coffee place in Pelham which Monica loved. Phoebe wanted to talk "seriously" but Monica noted, you wouldn't tell by her cheerful tone. Her friend always sounded relaxed, regardless of what was going on in her life. She was always one of those people who took things in her stride, it was what she noticed first when Phoebe had answered her roommate ad, a lifetime ago.

She spotted her in the back and they hugged. They settled and ordered lattes and muffins. After checking on each other: kids, husbands, friends, work—in that order—Phoebe approached the subject that seemed to preoccupy her.

"You know how Mike and I are trying for another kid?"

"All too well."

It wall all Phoebe talked about now, a third kid, but Monica couldn't blame her. It was all _she_ talked about when she and Chandler were trying for a baby, before finding out about their infertility. They stopped trying and a year later, Erica and Jack were adopted, a few years later, Andrew was conceived. The cosmic irony of it all.

"It was one time!" Phoebe yelled.

"Pheebs, I love you but if you two leave in the middle of dinner one more time to go have sex in the bathroom, we're canceling couples date night forever."

"Fine. But when I'm ovulating, the window is pretty short. We had to!" Phoebe took a deep breath to calm down. "Ok, well, Mike told me if we have another one, he thinks he should get back to being a lawyer."

"Really? He hates that."

"I know. I want another one so bad, so does he, but is it worth it giving up his dream for a stupid job he hated?"

"I thought the piano bar was doing well."

"It's doing fine, but he wants all of our kids to go to college. Which is ridiculous. I didn't go to college and I'm more successful than all of my college-educated friends!"

Monica blankly stared at her then shook her head. "You know, we could help? We still have a lot of clothes and stuff the kids grew out of. I'm sure you'll manage. We freaked out when we knew about Andy and it turned out fine."

"Oh!" Phoebe's face lit up. "How about we triple-team Mike at the next couples night?"

Monica laughed. "Sure, Chandler will be thrilled."

They sat in silence for a little while as they sipped their cups of coffee when Phoebe, with a mischievous smile, turned to her. "What about you two, don't you want another one?"

"I don't know …" Monica trailed off, a little flustered. "We don't have the time to think about another one, the three of them keep us pretty busy."

"Chandler doesn't want to?"

"No. I don't know. It's me, actually." Monica frowned, thinking hard. "Wow, I just realized that I'm the one holding up. It's just, sometimes I feel like I don't spend enough time with the kids and the restaurant is finally getting all this press ... It's a fragile equilibrium, you know?"

"Yeah. But I have to tell you, Chandler would love another kid."

"Really? How would you know?"

"He's great with kids, he loves being around them. I think he would have a gaggle of kids if you wanted to."

"We _have_ a gaggle of kids. I could get pregnant, technically, at any time, the chances for another pregnancy are still slim. And adoption requires so much energy … Huh, maybe I don't have baby fever anymore."

"Monica, I've known you for what, almost twenty years? The first night we spent as roommates, watching TV around an ouija board, you told me you wanted four or five kids!"

"Yeah, I know. I just love our life so much right now—wait, have we really known each other for twenty years?" Monica gasped at the realization.

"Yes. I remember cause that's when I married Duncan," Phoebe casually replied.

"Duncan! Oh God! Ok, let's not talk about how old we are. It's upsetting."

"We're still young, trust me. The other day, we went to the doctor for our health insurance—don't get me started on what a scam that is—the doctor told us that, barring accidents, we should prepare ourselves to live a hundred or beyond. Life expectancy is going up apparently. Do you know what that means? Me and Mike, we have another sixty years of marriage to look forward to. Can you imagine that?'

"Oh my God. That's a lot of years."

"You know, I love Mike so much, but sixty more years of this? I don't know if I can take it. Some nights when Lily is screaming bloody murder and Frances needs to be fed, and Mike can't get up no matter how hard I kick him … All I'm saying is, we might end up killing each other."

Monica laughed. "Well, I've known Chandler since I was eighteen. We're beyond the murdering stage at this point. We're like conjoined twins. Two brains but one heart, and most times, he knows exactly what I'm thinking."

Phoebe grinned and took another sip. "Hey, you think Ross and Rachel will have another kid?"

"No idea. Rachel is busy all the time and Ross … He's not against it, but he'd be the one to take care of it with Emma. And Ben is in high school now, the hormones are kicking in. That's a lot to handle. So I would say ... no."

"But Rachel loses all reason when Ross wants something though. I think she might want to."

"Well, I'm sure they're mature enough now to deal with those kinds of problems if they have different opinions on the matter."

Phoebe nodded in agreement. "Yeah, yeah, they've really matured. It's amazing."

They both sighed, then Phoebe scanned Monica's face. "Want to make a bet?"

"50$ on whether Rachel is pregnant by the new year!" Monica quickly replied in a shrill voice, her blue eyes shining with excitement.

"Oh, it's on!"

* * *

Monica held Jack's hand while Chandler carried Erica as they walked into the twins' bedroom. It was time for The Talk. For the twins, it was regular bedtime storytime. Their parents were used to reading stories and tales to them about their adoption, and playing games―the smaller kangaroo carried by Andrew's stuffed kangaroo acting as the adopted kid of Erica's Barbie and Ken dolls.

They settled down with their backs against the headboard on Jack's bed, Erica and Jack sitting between their legs.

"Princess, do you remember why we named you Erica?" Chandler asked, looking down at his daughter while Monica opened a photo album on Jack's lap.

Erica stared at her father, wrinkling her nose and trying to recount the story. "Um, because of Mommy-Tummy?"

"That's right, sweet pea. Your dad and I couldn't make a baby but we wanted a baby to love and take care of. So you were born from your birth mother's tummy, and then Daddy and I adopted you."

Monica looked down at the twins, gauging their reaction. Erica was pressing her cheek against her father's chest, a sign she would be lolling her head against him soon.

"Your Mommy Tummy's name was Erica, see that's her in the picture," Chandler pointed to a picture of Erica, with him and Monica when she came to New York for the first time and they visited the city's landmarks. "You remember her?"

"Mommy-Tummy!" Jack exclaimed, pointing his finger to Erica's picture as if the memory had just struck him.

"She looks like me," Erica said, grinning at her mother, delighted.

Monica laughed as she kissed her daughter's head, smoothing her long blond strands of hair away from her face. "Yes, she's very beautiful, just like you."

"She loves you very much," Chandler chimed in and Monica sensed his voice slightly wobbling.

"Your birth mother was too young to take care of a baby," she continued for him, pausing to weigh her words, "and we needed a baby to love and take care of but we couldn't grow one in my tummy."

Monica remembered the year that followed the news of their fertility issues, she felt a tinge of sadness. It was strange, she thought the grief was definitely gone after she had gotten pregnant, but the pain and the sadness of those first few days after the test results could never really fade away from her mind. Nothing in her life had hurt so much.

"One day, on Thanksgiving, the phone rang and we were told that we were having a baby. We yelled and I hugged your mom," Chandler said, smiling at Monica as he recalled those moments. "Uncle Ross and Joey, Aunt Phoebe and Aunt Rachel were there and we all hugged each other."

It had been an awful Thanksgiving dinner. Monica was disappointed in her friends, she wasn't feeling enthusiastic about cooking, riddled with anxiety and drained by the adoption process. She thought back then she was never going to be resilient enough to wait more months, more years. Then, the phone ringed and it made Thanksgiving 2003 the greatest Thanksgiving of her life.

"We took a plane and we flew to meet your birth mother, Erica," Monica said after taking a deep breath, and checking on the twins, who were happily listening to their parents. They always loved storytime. "She wanted the very best for you, she wanted a family where you would be loved and taken care of. Daddy talked to her about how much we wanted you and how long we waited for you, and she picked us."

Chandler never told her the full story of how exactly he convinced Erica to pick them. He simply said that he told her how much he loved her and that she would make the world's greatest mother; Monica guessed it was only the condensed version, Chandler was never one to brag about his romantic gestures. It was the foundation of their marriage—the silent, unconditional acts of kindness and sacrifices.

"Then one day, we were with Erica and we took her to the hospital, and she surprised us again and gave birth to Jack then to you, Eri," Chandler followed.

"We were the happiest people in the whole world when we both saw you, and we couldn't believe two small babies would make us smile so big."

Jack and Erica grinned. Chandler stroked her cheek where it grinned, a petal-soft swelling of happiness. Monica pursed her lips at the display of affection, it reminded her of their first smiles. Erica at six weeks, and Jack a week later. Her heart had expanded three sizes. "You and Jack were so tiny and perfect, you were the most beautiful babies ever."

"We held you and we cried—_happy_ tears," Chandler specified when Jack looked up, worried for a moment, "and we took you home. So, Erica, we gave you Mommy Tummy's name, and Jack we gave you grandpa's name."

"And that's how we became a family."

Chandler and Monica smiled knowingly at each other. She loved him and the kids unreservedly, she thought there might come a time her rib cage wouldn't be able to hold it all.

"When are we going to see her?" Erica innocently asked, and Chandler and Monica gave each other a worried look.

"You've already met with her when you were smaller, don't you remember?" Monica said.

"No, I don't remember."

Monica looked over at Chandler, surprised to find his head looking down suddenly, with a strange, sad expression.

"Chandler?" she called him after a moment of silence. He shook his head and looked up at her.

"Erica is a little busy right now, but we will meet her when she comes to New York," he said at last.

"And we'll have ice cream? Does she like ice cream?" Jack asked, clearly more preoccupied with his favorite dessert than the complicated adult emotions his parents were experiencing.

Monica waited and looked at Chandler again, it was like a grey cloud suddenly appeared over his head. "Yes Jacky, she loves ice cream and we'll take her with us to the park and we'll all have ice cream."

"What about Andy?" Jack followed up on his request.

"Well, just like your sister was a surprise, a few years after you were born, we had another surprise! Andrew grew up in my tummy and he was born nine months later," Monica explained.

"You two were gifts to us and then we were given another gift so we could be a big family and you could play with another brother and love him like we love you. All three of you share a very, very special story."

"Like a secret superpower?" Jack's eyes lit up.

Chandler chuckled. "Yes, like a superpower."

"I love playing with Andy, now he can kick the ball and score goals," Erica said, snuggling closer to her father.

Monica closed the photo album and leaned to kiss her on the cheek. "I know you do, honey."

"We love the three of you very much, we will always love you and take care of you, and if you have questions you can always come to us."

The twins nodded, mirroring each other, Monica and Chandler watched them for a while, Jack was yawning heavily against his mother's chest, and she wondered how eyelids so small could lift lashes so long. Chandler carried Erica to her bed, sang softly to her and Monica pulled the comforter over Jack's body, his face smoothed out in sleep and his cheeks flushed.

"I love you, little bunnies," she said as they both stood up. One last look at them and she realized they would never stop blowing her away. She turned off the lights and closed the door.

Chandler held her hand as they walked down the hall toward their bedroom. He kissed her temple and smiled, then looked at her in a way that meant he was in the mood to fool around and Monica wondered if there was anything else on his mind.

"You know, I saw Phoebe yesterday, she went to the doctor with Mike and he told them they could live to a hundred."

"Really?"

"Yeah, could you imagine another sixty years of marriage? Would you put up with me?" she asked impishly.

Chandler gave her his lopsided grin."Of course. I can't wait."

Monica tilted her head to the side. "You're looking for sex tonight, aren't you?"

Chandler gasped in mocked outrage. "I don't see how that's related …" he said and began kissing her neck as they entered their room and sat on their bed. "But if you want the truth, I'm excited to live as long as possible with you. I can't wait to be flabby and old and read the obituary together every single day to celebrate every time we outlive someone."

Monica laughed. "I can't wait too."

Chandler put his hands over her shoulders and started to massage them as Monica flopped down on the bed, face first.

"Hey, how about we relax a bit, and maybe I massage you for a while," he leaned over her, his body draping hers and leaving a trail of kisses from her arm to her neck. "And maybe more," his voice dropped to a whisper, close to her ear. "After all, the soon-to-get-a-Michelin-star and voted hottest chef in the world deserves to be worshipped."

At the feel of his hands and the tone of his voice, Monica turned to face him and closed her eyes with pleasure as he kissed her firmly on the lips. "Oh God, you do know how to turn me on."


	4. Accident of Birth

Chandler balanced himself in his chair as he looked over the window at the reflection of his company's building into the building facing them. One of the levels, uncharacteristically for an office on Madison Avenue, didn't have one-way glass windows and he could see through it. A meeting was being held in one of the spaces, which was ironic given his agency was doing the very same thing, doing what the advertising business seemed to do best: they were having a meeting.

This time with the Hershey's executives, the agency's most difficult client by everyone's admission, and more importantly, their biggest client. In the times of recession and companies taking their business in-house, if Hershey's wanted an impromptu meeting, they would get it.

In his previous career, Chandler remembered that meetings were mostly self-congratulatory and he cringed at the memory of good trimester numbers being rewarded by a slap on his backside. In the advertising business, however, people loved meetings, and meetings were never for making decisions, lack of progress in meeting one would be reviewed in meeting two, three, five until final one—before the big pitch or the big presentation, the cycle repeating itself with each campaign.

Chandler tried to focus on the presentation: A new product, a new strategy, something about Valentine's Day and becoming the chocolate of the holiday.

But all he could think about was Monica.

He kept thinking about how he would do anything to keep her happy, to keep any hurt from coming to her, or to their children. He would do anything for those four people who gave him a shot at the happiness he never thought would come his way.

This was the reason he couldn't really focus on what the consumer behavior scientist was telling them about Valentine's Day and focus groups.

Maybe he shouldn't have sent that email to Erica on the day the twins started school. The moment her response arrived in his inbox kept replaying in his mind, anxiety creeping up on him once again.

He had read it again and again until he memorized every word. Her apology to disappearing on them, "seeing the twins was too hard for me," her begging him not to tell Monica and finally, her announcement, "I'll be in New York next week and I'd like to see you. It's important, please call me."

It wasn't how he envisioned getting in touch again with the birth mother to his twins.

The next few days after The Email, he thought about whether to call her or not, he went back and forth, and every time he saw Monica, guilt shot through him.

He hated lying to her, even innocent white lies were hard for him to keep away from her. They were married for eight years, they had known each other for twenty years and he strongly believed no two people knew each other as well as they did, and that meant they could read the other pretty well.

When he lied about doing the dishes while she was at the restaurant, she would say she believed him over the phone but he knew that she knew the truth and she was letting it slide. Those were the implicit rules of marriage, but keeping something so big from her was never an instance in their relationship. All the way back to when they were friends, they trusted each other like two soldiers who fought together and always had each other's back.

Not telling her was killing him inside.

A couple of days later after the email, they had talked to the twins about how they were adopted, and Erica asked where their birth mother was, the twins couldn't remember her, and his heart broke.

It wasn't about him or Monica anymore. If his children wanted to see their biological mother, and she contacted them, there could be a chance to make that happen.

So he called the day after.

"I'll be in Manhattan on Friday, I'd rather tell you in person," Erica had said in a brief phone call.

It was Friday and he was anxiously waiting for that phone call or text message to give the details of where they would meet.

The meeting with Hershey's was deemed satisfying by everybody in the room as they agreed—inevitably—to schedule another meeting to pitch the campaign.

It wasn't enough to take off his mind from the Erica situation. Was it a situation? It could be nothing, it could be good news, perhaps she wanted to set up a meeting with the twins and Monica, and they would be back on regular updates and even visits.

Yet, he couldn't help but imagine the worst-case scenario.

The nightmare that had kept Monica up several nights after the birth of the twins while they were settling in their new home. It was a fear that started the moment they met Erica, what if she changed her mind? What if she regretted her decision? It persisted until the adoption papers were finalized, then dissipated a little until Monica had those nightmares in which Erica would knock on their door, one day, and ask for the twins back, and threaten to sue them if need be.

He did share her concerns during the adoption process. Erica was a teenager, although they made everything in their power so that she wouldn't feel pressured, she changed her mind once, thanks to his plea, and it always scared him that she could change it again.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he came back to his office. Erica and Jack were theirs, it would be so unfair and life had been cruel enough to them before the twins.

He felt a slight vibration from the phone in his jacket, and pressed view.

It was from Erica.

• • • _I'm near the Empire State Building, at that place we went to with Monica, remember?_

Of course, Chandler remembered.

He sighed, and texted back that he was on his way.

Erica was sitting at the back of the restaurant as Chandler entered, she waved at him with a forced smile. She hadn't changed much from the last time they saw her, he noted. Young, innocent and a little lost. He sat in front of her and he immediately felt the tension charge up in the air. She looked nervy, clenching her hands with her knuckles straining at her pale skin.

"I know you wonder why I am disrupting your life like this," she finally said after a few moments.

Chandler frowned his eyebrows, slightly alarmed. "What?"

"You didn't seem too happy on the phone and I get it. I disappear for two years then call you out of nowhere―"

"No, Erica. It's not about that," Chandler responded, he took a deep breath and straightened his tie, realizing he was just as nervy. "I don't like lying to Monica and I still don't understand why she isn't there with me, because she should be."

"I know," Erica admitted in a resigned tone. "Please believe me that I have no intention to hurt you guys," she looked at him and inhaled, tears rising to her eyes.

"Is it the twins? Do you want them back?" Chandler asked as he eyed her carefully, dreading her answer.

"No," she said before breaking down, her hands over her head.

"Hey," Chandler said cautiously. "Is everything ok?"

For a few moments, Erica just stared into space before summoning the courage to look at him again. "I'm pregnant."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"You want us to adopt it?" Chandler suddenly blurted out and regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth.

"No!" She erupted. "I want to keep it."

Chandler nodded. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little …" he trailed off, passing a hand through his hair and she gave him an understanding smile.

"The father of the baby isn't a good person, he lives in Ohio and our relationship wasn't … great. I had to get away from that place, so I came here. I don't know a lot of people in New York. You and Monica were always so nice to me …"

Chandler cut her off. "Then why don't you want her to know?"

"Because!" Erica exclaimed then paused to catch her breath. "Because she must think I'm a monster! She was so nice to me, and I stopped giving you news and you were sending all those pictures …"

"We thought you might change your mind."

"I know, I don't blame you. I just―the last time I saw the twins, it was too hard. You two are wonderful parents and I'm so happy they get to grow up in a loving home. Jack is so cute and Erica looks so much like me ... Each time, I missed them more and it hurts too much. I have to live with this decision all my life, and … I didn't know how to handle seeing them."

Tears were running down her cheeks now as she tried to hold them back. Chandler's jaw tightened and he reached out with his hand on her arm.

"I'm sorry."

Erica shook her head, she took out a tissue from her handbag and wiped her nose roughly with it.

They sat in silence for a while then Chandler spoke up, "If you need help to rebuild your life and take care of the baby I will do anything I can," he said, in a determined tone. "This baby is Jack's and Erica's brother or sister, of course, we'll always be here for you. Both of you."

Erica exhaled and smiled genuinely for the first time.

* * *

Chandler parked the car outside of Pelham's elementary school and waited outside to pick up the twins. He looked at his watch just when the alarm ringed. A few seconds later, kids were charging out of their classrooms. Erica and Jack sauntered out of the classroom, their arms linked, and ran toward Chandler.

"Ouch," grunted Chandler as the twins rammed his stomach and hugged him. "You missed Daddy, didn't you?"

"I missed you the most!" Jack exclaimed.

"No, I missed you the mostest," Erica said, making her father laugh.

"I missed you too, little peanuts."

He looked up and saw their teacher calling him out. He walked to her and she motioned for them to follow her in one of their classrooms. Chandler asked Jack and Erica to go play in the back of the class.

"Mr. Bing, I wanted to have a little chat about the twins."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, it's not serious. I mean, it's a little serious but not bad news. The twins are doing well, they're wonderful kids."

Chandler relaxed and smiled.

"Well, Erica is a very active, sociable kid," the teacher continued. "She participates a lot, loves to draw and sing and tell stories."

Chandler grinned and looked proudly over his daughter. "She's a star."

"She's a very competitive little girl."

He laughed. "Can I blame her mother for that?"

"It's not a bad quality per se, but she's a little stubborn."

"We're working on that. It shouldn't come as a surprise to you that her first word was _no_," he quipped again but the teacher wasn't really laughing. He racked his throat to adopt a more serious tone. "Is Jack doing well too?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about actually. Jack gets bored very quickly."

"Huh," Chandler paused. "Really? When he comes home, all he talks about is school."

"It's not my place to say, but I think you should learn more about the school's programs." She handed him a brochure. "The school has tests for kindergarten kids to enter the advanced learning program. I don't know if Jack is gifted, but I think you should have the test."

Chandler frowned and laughed a little nervously. "Tested? They're not even in the first grade. What do they do in advanced learning? Classes about Alphabet 102, Level Two Crayons―"

"I got it," the teacher interrupted what looked like a long list of bad jokes. "Mr. Bing, this is my recommendation but I understand if you're against the idea."

"No, no. Thank you for telling me. I'll discuss it with my wife."

Chandler looked at Jack who was meticulously placing pieces of Legos on what looked like a castle, while Erica was coloring.

Jack was smart, he had no doubt about that, but Chandler thought he had passed his nerdy quirks along to him and never questioned it beyond that.

On his way home, he stopped by the store to pick up party supplies for Andrew's upcoming birthday party. As he was driving, he kept stealing glances at Jack over the rearview mirror and smiling to himself. He had to admit, he was a wickedly smart little boy, Erica amazed and charmed anyone who met her and Andrew … Andrew was now three and the sweetest of them all. Chandler could see Monica in his bone structure but saw himself in his eyes, and it amazed him the blend of history, of influences from generations ago, forgotten but saved in DNA to confer height or blue eyes or a sense of humor. It was a special fascination with Andrew. His smile touched him to the core, the one that made him think of his birth and his mother, the first time he kissed his little wet head then looked up into Monica's eyes and felt that nameless connection nothing could explain or express sufficiently.

Andrew would grow up one day, and leave them and life permitting, have his own family, not remembering anything from his first three years on earth, but that connection, that love … nothing would take that away from them; that was in their bones.

It was the bittersweet feat of parenting, all you could do was give your children the best eighteen years of your life, years which will end up ultimately compressed in a couple of lines in their life story. For the first time in a long time, Chandler thought about his own parents and whether they went through the same feelings of nostalgia and pain with him.

* * *

The day of Andrew's birthday party dawned bright and fair, benefitting from October's loveliest fall weather. Andrew shared his birthday with his uncle Ross, as such the celebration was doubled. They held dinner for Ross on the eighteenth, and the weekend after Monica would go all-in for her son's sole dedicated party, requiring the presence of neighborhood friends and family, securing the services of the most sought after entertainer in Westchester, and baking a giant birthday cake she would prepare all week to go along with the party's theme.

Royal weddings were a modest affair in comparison.

Chandler never really understood the universal enthusiasm for birthdays. Over the years, he watched his friends eagerly celebrate birthdays, organizing them, buying gifts, and he mostly went with it.

They would feel sad over growing old. He didn't care as much about the passing of time. When he was a kid, he couldn't wait to grow up and free himself of his parents, of his boarding school bullies, of the dorms of NYU, and he enjoyed birthdays with his friends, maybe more than anyone else. While they were chasing jobs, love or fame and prestige in their twenties, he was satisfied with having friends he loved and loved him.

In fact, he barely brought up his birthday at all with them, to the point there were years they had to improvise his birthday parties at the last minute.

Parenthood changed a person though, and his children's birthdays were never ordinary days.

On those days, their eyes had to shine brighter than ever.

The party was going seamlessly, from the candles blowing followed by the unwrapping of gifts, rounds of charades and karaoke. Guests came and left from the neighborhood, the house was bursting with the sounds of kids running and laughing and the discussions of adults.

Chandler smiled when Monica got emotional as Andrew stood on the chair and blew the three little greasy candles. He felt his throat tighten as she returned his smile and nodded reassuringly, sharing the turmoil of emotions they were going through.

He wanted to spend this day enjoying his family, instead, he felt he was carrying the weight of the world and it was crushing him. Later at the party, he found Joey alone outside and joined him. He had to talk to somebody, someone he could trust almost as much as his wife. "Hey Joe, you have a minute?" he asked his friend from the porch.

"Yeah, what's up?" Joey replied, not looking up as he was working his double piece of cake.

"Can we talk somewhere private?"

Joey's eyebrows frowned then he smiled a huge grin. "If it's about the porn on your computer, it wasn't me and no, I don't know your password."

"You what? —just come here," Chandler said, gesticulating to him. Joey groaned at the interruption of his cake eating and joined him on the porch.

Chandler paused, taking a breath. "I need to talk about something that's been weighing me down but Monica can't know."

Joey's eyes went wide. "Oh my God, are you going to tell me you're gay?"

"No!"

"Ok, then what is it? Oh wait, I can't keep your secret," Joey said very seriously.

"Come on, Joey. I could really use some good advice here."

"Good advice? Me?" He paused. "Why don't you go to Ross?"

"He might not react well."

"Ok, you're scaring me."

Chandler breathed deeply again. Getting out words was torture. "Erica called me."

"So?"

"Not my daughter. Erica, their birth mother."

"Oh, makes sense. Wait, didn't she disappear for like two years?"

Chandler turned away and started pacing. "Yes. She sent me an email and I met with her, but she asked me not to tell Monica. She's … pregnant."

"With your baby?"

Chandler stared at him in disbelief. "Joey! Of course not. Some guy back in Ohio, but she ran away from him and she's staying at a hotel in New York."

"Oh, what are you going to do?"

"I'm trying to help her, but I don't know what to do. She doesn't want me to tell Monica because she's not ready to see the twins again."

Joey put down the cake and crossed his arms, as if he had all the answers. "Chandler, I think you know why you came to me."

"What do you mean?"

"You know me very well. I don't like secrets, because secrets hurt people. I know you don't want to hurt Monica, but keeping it from her would hurt her more."

He was right, as Joey often was about these things. What people would mistake for simplicity was to Chandler a sign of candor and the strongest moral compass he ever witnessed in a person.

"Yeah. It's just … she already thinks she did something wrong when Erica disappeared … But you're right."

"Of course I'm right. I'm always right about these things."

He chuckled. "Ok Joey, I'm the married guy here and you're the one about to get a divorce."

"Cheap shot, man."

"Sorry, I'm a little tense," Chandler offered an apologetic smile. "How are things with Alex?"

"It's ok. We're trying to be mature about this. She signed the papers and is sending them to my lawyer."

"I'm really sorry about that. I really thought you guys would make it."

"Me too, but you know, we're still friends, and I can spend more time in New York now. My career is going well," replied Joey. "Silver linings, man."

Chandler couldn't help a grin. "Dude, you've really grown. I'm so proud of you."

Joey returned his smile, they looked at each other and nodded then they hugged like old times.

"And I know about the porn. _Thanks for that_," Chandler deadpanned.

"You're welcome!"

* * *

While Monica was upstairs enjoying a well-deserved wrapping paper ironing after-party of her own, Chandler stayed downstairs to entertain the kids and manage their sugar crash in the living room. They looked tired and sad the party was over, and he knew exactly what they needed to cheer them up.

"Let's make a blanket fort," he suggested. Blanket forts were one of their favorite indoor pastimes.

"Yeah!" the twins yelled in unison, as they scattered with Andrew to pull blankets and comforters out of closets and off beds.

When Monica came back downstairs, Chandler just crawled out of the fort, a party hat over his head, blowing a noisemaker. He immediately recognized the shuddering look of shock on her face.

"What's going on here?" she asked.

Chandler looked at her sheepishly. "We are having a little private birthday party for Andy."

"Chandler …"

"And we'll clean up when we finish, right, guys?" Chandler reassured as the twins came out of the fort. They shrugged noncommittally at their dad. "_Right_, guys?"

"Okay," they replied dejectedly.

"Come on, Mon. You don't want to be the party pooper, do you?" he said, sensing her stance was weakening as Andrew joined the twins. They were wearing their fluffiest pajamas, with different hats: a king crown for the birthday boy, a tiara for Erica and a cowboy hat for Jack. Almost too cute to bear, Chandler knew he was winning this one.

"Mommy, don't be a pooper," Andrew said in his small voice. Chandler laughed and Monica smirked.

"That's my guy," Chandler said around his laugh, kissing the top of his son's head.

"The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree," Monica joked, as she resigned herself, putting an alien headband party hat and joining them inside the fort. Chandler twisted with joy behind her back and she turned to glare at him. "I'm doing this for the kids."

"Sure," Chandler replied.

Andrew was, as usual, holding on tightly to Kenny The Kangaroo, then Jack suddenly took away the stuffed animal from his brother's hands, and started crawling further inside the fort. Andrew, shell-shocked by the provoking act of war, started crying.

"Don't worry, Andy, I'll catch Jack!" Erica said, kissing him on one cheek before chasing after her twin brother on her hands and knees.

Chandler just shrugged his shoulders at Monica's horrified look.

"You have created a war zone," she told him in a reproachful tone.

"Then I better catch them."

Chandler went after his kids while Monica was holding Andrew, trying to comfort him.

When he caught the twins, Jack was holding Kenny The Kangaroo captive, while Erica was holding a pillow, ready to retaliate.

"Jack, give Kenny back!" she yelled at her brother.

Jack pondered her demand with a mischievous grin. "No. I'm keeping him."

"Guys, no fighting! Or you'll be grounded for a week," they heard Monica tell them.

Chandler, sensing things could get out of hand quickly and devolve into a full-blown humanitarian crisis, knew it was time to step up with a peace process. "Jack, if you give Kenny back to Andy," he said carefully, "and Erica, you put down that pillow, there will be no grounding."

The twins exchanged tense looks at each other, Jack slowly walked towards Andrew handing Kenny to him, the scene playing out like a Western duel and just as Monica was about to breathe a sigh of relief, Erica flung her pillow at her father.

Chandler looked outraged. "Oh, princess, you want to play that game?"

Erica couldn't stop laughing, her father came to her and started tickling her—somehow inspired by their sister, Jack and Andrew threw pillows at their mother, weakly and harmlessly. Monica followed Chandler's example and started tickling them too. The kids' laughs resounded around the room and the blanket fort's foundations were threatening to give up under so much agitation.

Monica and Chandler laughed with their kids until they were interrupted by a phone ring. Chandler stopped and looked for his phone, recognizing his ringtone. The phone had dropped from his pocket while they were playing with the kids. He looked for it then saw it was near Monica. His wife was about to pick up the phone, and taken by a rush of worry, he almost jumped out and reached for it before she could.

She frowned her eyebrows at him, and he mouthed "work" before standing up and leaving the living room to answer the call outside.


	5. Shadow of a Doubt

"I don't want to be Batgirl! Can I change to Belle when we go home?"

"Erica, you agreed with Jack on the costumes so you'll keep it."

"Unfair! Superheroes suck."

"_Erica,_" Chandler warned sternly. "That's enough."

Jack turned and looked at his dad, rolling his eyes at his sister's antics. They were on their way back from trick or treating in the neighborhood to the planned Halloween party they were hosting at home.

As Jack and Erica debated the merits of Disney princesses against comic-book heroes, Monica looked at Chandler, holding in his arms a sleepy Andrew in his Robin costume. Chandler looked calm but had been quiet all night. Usually, he'd be there teasing Jack and Erica about their costumes, but today there had been something off about him.

In fact, there had been something off about him for a while now. Ever since Andrew's birthday.

Monica was convinced she knew everything there was to know about her husband. Just like he knew everything about her. She had seen him cry at Finding Nemo and more recently at Up, she could read his facial expressions like a book: the way his eyebrows rose up and his mouth opened when he was confused or titled his head to the right when he was annoyed, or even the way he bit his lip when he was about to say something extremely romantic to her.

It was the result of more than twenty years of friendship, eight years of marriage—even before that night in London. They had been blended, intertwined for so much of their lives, to the point they could read each other's thoughts through one look and finish each other's sentences.

But for the last two weeks, she caught him staring into space a few times, looking preoccupied. It was small moments, imperceptible to the untrained eye, but not to hers. And whenever she would ask 'Are you ok?', he would simply answer 'Yeah, fine' and move on to busy himself with something else, anything else to avoid a longer conversation.

It frustrated her to no end.

Their communication had always been seamless, if not borderline psychic at times. There was nothing they couldn't talk about. From the moment Chandler had moved in across the hall from her apartment in the Village, they had revealed to each other their best and worst selves, their most embarrassing secrets, their most vulnerable confessions.

And they simply worked like that. They were_ that _couple to their friends, annoyingly in-sync, in their little world whether alone or with other people, looking like they were sharing a private joke at all times.

And she could see it now, as they were walking on the sidewalk of their neighborhood block, the autumn air still warm and sweet. His eyes were distant, locked in his own bubble, preoccupied and removed.

She sighed, focusing back on the twins in front of them, chattering and their sentences overlapping over each other, Erica jumping up and down from time to time.

What was on his mind he couldn't tell her about? Work maybe? He always made his feelings about his job, bad or good, clear.

His friends were her friends and they couldn't hide anything from her anyway. Except for Joey, possibly. Even then, he was loyal to Chandler but to a point, he would tell her if it was bad enough.

His parents? It couldn't be, his relationship with them had improved over the years.

Or could it be her?

She closed her eyes regrettably as they reached their house. No, he was still her Chandler. He loved her and cared for her. He always did. She felt guilty even entertaining the idea of doubting his loyalty.

It had to be something, and she had to find out. But not tonight, not during a Halloween party the kids were excited about and she had planned all week.

* * *

The living room was full of parents and their kids from the neighborhood. Guests kept telling her how great the party was and how much fun they were having. On another night, she would be thrilled. A perfect party, another one for the books. She took care of invitations, decoration, drinks, and food, while Chandler turned into the perfect host and entertainer—people in the suburbs were charmed by him and his humor, he told her they were an easier crowd than the people in the city, but she knew it was all him. He was maturing into the most charming man she ever knew. She couldn't picture him back to his twenty-something years, awkward and panicking at the thought of tense social gatherings. Now and here, he was running the show. Making conversation, making people laugh and making other women give her "lucky you" looks.

Monica felt reprieve as she watched Chandler in his Alfred Pennyworth tuxedo with a little mustache drawn on his face. He wasn't a fan of costumes, but they had promised Jack during an Erica-breaking-my-toys tantrum they would all wear Batman related costumes: Chandler took the chance to go for the Wayne Manor valet, in a three-piece suit and a black bow tie, and he looked so carefree and happy while talking with Mike, Ross, and Joey.

She smiled to herself, ever since the Velveteen Rabbit costume incident, he made it his prerogative to pick a flattering Halloween costume for himself, and this one was a treat to the eye. She always found him handsome, but at forty-one, her husband was hitting his prime. He had a glow and a charisma about him, helped by his grey-streaked hair, insouciant and slightly spiked to the back, an easy smile with a deep set of dimples, and a suit fitting better than any glove could. Happiness and fatherhood looked good on him.

Monica adjusted her Wonder Woman's headband and sipped her 'adult' punch drink as Phoebe and Rachel approached her, the latter holding her daughter, Emma, dressed as a fairy princess, in her arms.

"Monica, your costume is unfair to the rest of us," Rachel started. "I want to give you my number."

She laughed and shook her hand. "Aw, stop it. I feel so exposed in this tight skirt. This is not a costume you should wear if you ever had a baby."

"Oh no, no, if there was a contest tonight, you would win," Rachel reassured, knowing the mere mention of a win would flatter her friend.

"Well, you definitely wouldn't, that's barely a costume," Phoebe retorted to her.

Rachel gaped, looking down at her outfit then shrugging her shoulders. "I'm Anna Wintour. Isn't it obvious?" She proceeded to shake her short bob-styled hair. "But I can't wear sunglasses. Inside … and at night."

Monica smiled as Phoebe rolled her eyes. She leaned and smoothed Emma's hair falling under her tiara.

"Emma went a little crazy with the candy," Rachel said, kissing the forehead of her sleepy daughter.

"What about the girls?" Monica asked Phoebe.

"Lily is with Mike. I put Frances in the twins' bedroom if that's okay. She didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"Of course, Pheebs. Thank you for coming over tonight." Monica smiled gratefully.

Rachel returned her smile and Phoebe squeezed her hand.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to save your husbands from Ross. I bet he's still talking about his _badass_ Indiana Jones costume," Rachel said.

"I'll go check on Frances."

Monica nodded and the girls left. She quickly looked over the living room, making sure the party was going well then shifted her gaze towards Ross, Mike, and Chandler. Suddenly, Chandler caught her eyes and he smiled at her. A smile she felt was only for her, and in a moment like that, they could as well have been the only people in the room. The world would stop turning on its axis, time froze, and she would feel an overwhelming wave of love and affection.

One look was enough to comfort her.

It was a certainty, she knew him better than anyone and he knew her better than anyone.

He put down his drink, and she swore she could have predicted what he would do next—he excused himself from their friends, and walked toward her. Immediately kissing her slowly and softly on the lips.

"You know what I wish I could do right now?" he whispered into her ear as he nuzzled her hair behind it.

She shook her head and smiled at the glint in his eyes.

"I wish I could scream that the sexiest woman at the party is all mine," he said in a breathy voice, kissing her again on the lips then his forehead rested against hers, his left hand caressing her back slowly.

"Well, the fact you're feeling me up right now and I didn't slap you for it should be enough to send that message," she murmured into his neck and he nodded with a laugh.

"I want you to wear this in bed," Chandler whispered again.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. Is that ok?"

Monica hesitated, grinning at him when she heard noises coming from the baby monitor in her pocket. "I need to check on our son first," she said, wiggling the monitor in front of him.

Chandler slumped his shoulders in disappointment. "Mood killer."

"But later …" She raised her eyebrows suggestively and his eyes went wide as she left him with a kiss on the cheek to go upstairs.

A moment later, she slowly entered Andrew's room and found her son clutching Kenny The Kangaroo, his eyes flat and his face flushed.

"What's the matter, Andyroo?"

He turned and smiled shyly at the sight of his mother. "Mommy, it was under my bed. The midnight monster."

"Oh sweet pea, it was just a bad dream."

Monica lifted Andrew, and suddenly she felt how big and heavy he was getting, and in a flash, she remembered how tiny he once had been. She carried him to the rocking chair and held his hand, caressing his hair. She felt him relax and sighed. He was still wearing his Robin pants, which she was sure he kept by convincing his father.

She remembered their first Halloween at their house, Jack and Erica were less than six months old, they were fussy and not even sleeping through the night yet—Monica and Chandler were tired all the time, but on Halloween night, they dressed the twins up in bodysuit pumpkin costumes, carrying them in their arms for a short neighborhood walk. It had been practically the first time they went out with the children. The twins' mood lifted and they couldn't stop grinning, earning the oohing and awing of their Pelham neighbors.

Andrew's first Halloween was all a blur, however. He was two weeks old and they were wrapped up in trying to get by—barely. The twins' terrible twos were in full swing and Andrew required his mother's constant attention. Chandler still insisted on putting him in a pumpkin costume to take a picture, despite his wailing screams, which were spookier and more terrifying than a haunted house, he joked to her.

The years afterward had turned Halloween into one of their favorite family traditions. It was the opportunity to get the gang all together in their house, Ben and Emma, in particular, deprived of a good old-fashioned trick-or-treat experience in their New York building, loved celebrating it at the Bings. Phoebe and Mike brought Lily and Frances, and after missing it the first two years he was in L.A. Joey finally joined everybody the third year.

For little Andrew, Halloween could be a little overwhelming, like today. He was a playful, happy kid but his energy around people would drain him out and by 9 p.m. he was ready for bed—surprisingly, the usually reserved and shy Jack could go all night long when he was having fun around his siblings and cousins. Even Erica, the star of the show whenever they had a party or guests, was ready to drop a couple of hours before her twin.

Monica looked down at Andrew, he was softly snoring. She stood up and moved stealthily towards his bed, not letting him drop down until the very last second. She let out a sigh of relief as he waggled a little before his face softened into a deep slumber.

She kissed his forehead slowly and turned the light out.

She picked up a few items of clothing on her way, and put them in the laundry basket, having already filled and emptied the washing machine three times that day. In the laundry room, as she opened the machine, she found out it was already loaded and smiled. Chandler was always torn between wanting to help and not wanting to deprive her of her stress-coping mechanism. But once in a while, he insisted, with small gestures like that—loading the machine, decluttering the living room in her absence, emptying the dishwasher before leaving for work—without telling or asking, and once again, she marveled at how good a husband he was.

She quickly checked her make-up in the mirror, then as she was about to head downstairs, something stopped her.

Something unusual and just … off.

She moved by the window of their bedroom and peeped out through it into the front of the house. There was Chandler, on the phone, his hand through his hair and pacing out. Everything about his demeanor was so …. _unlike_ Chandler.

All those strange feelings came back in a rush. She couldn't help the horrible squeezing in her chest. That was the problem, she did know him inside out and this wasn't normal behavior. This wasn't Chandler, Chandler would tell her whatever was on his mind instead of pacing out in the front yard and talk on the phone with an edge to his voice.

She leaned her head against the window, trying desperately to pick up scraps of conversation.

"You don't understand, I'm pinned in a corner," she could hear him say in a tight voice. Almost through gritted teeth.

Pinned in a corner? What could that possibly mean?

But what followed made her heart sink.

"She doesn't know."

Her throat tightened and her heart was thudding. It wasn't something off, it wasn't her imagination, it wasn't her time of the month or her paranoia. He was hiding something. And she couldn't help but assume the worst.

And yet, it was still unimaginable. Not her husband, definitely not Chandler.

In normal circumstances, whenever he acted anxious and worried she would guess he was planning a surprise romantic date and didn't want to mess it up. Because she could read him. Or so she thought.

When she finally went downstairs and met him in the hallway, she couldn't read his expression. His eyes were almost blank and there were shadows on his face, and all she could think about were those damn words. _She doesn't know._

"Is Andrew asleep?" he asked her.

Monica nodded, he nodded back and went to the kitchen. She swallowed.

No joke, no witty remark, no flirty comment.

Not tonight.

* * *

Monica felt numb as she finished cleaning the living room after the party. Cleaning didn't work tonight. She felt sick to her stomach, anxiety bubbling in her rib cage and a hurricane of thoughts spinning inside her head. Chandler had gone upstairs without offering to help. He would always offer his help though he knew she would turn it down every time. Instead, he told her he was going to check on the twins and go to bed, pretexting tiredness from a long week at work.

While she got ready for bed, he was already sleeping on his side, not turning to meet her as she sat on the edge of it.

"Should I take it off?" she asked him.

"Huh?"

"You know, the costume... Never mind," she said, quickly taking the headband and undressing.

"Oh," he said, as if he had just remembered, and turned to her, his hand massaging his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm really tired."

"Okay."

She avoided his gaze and he went back to sleeping on his side. The longer the silence went on, the more awkward it got for her. She darted quickly to the bathroom, and started brushing her teeth, a count of fifteen for each molar―hoping if she stayed long enough, she would avoid a blow-up. That part of Chandler, when he would get all closed off, was so hard to process.

As she washed her face, she realized whatever was going on shouldn't drive a wedge between them. A long time ago, they promised to talk, to deal head-on with their issues, to never forget how to hold each other. Because marriage needed to be tended to, love alone wouldn't be enough. The perfect embrace was only perfect because they fit and because there was a dance, that harmonious geometry: where the head would land, where his hands went around her, how exactly her head was pressed against his chest. A beautiful, harmonious dance that could turn into a shadow dance if they stopped talking to each other, touching one another.

She came out of the bathroom resolute. Her decision was made, she'd wake him if she had to.

"Chandler," she began, as she slid under the comforter. Chandler groaned in his sleep.

"Chandler, wake up." She nudged his shoulder until he turned, his face a little startled, only opening the one eye.

"Is everything all right?" she asked him, an imploring look on her face. "If there's anything, _anything_ wrong or you're worried about, you would tell me, wouldn't you?"

He frowned his eyebrows, not fully used to her bedside light. "Is everything all right with you?"

"Me? You didn't answer my question! Oh my … You're not sick, are you?" She gasped suddenly.

"Of course, I'm not. Honey, I'm fine, let's get some sleep."

He kissed her cheek and turned over. Within a few moments, he was breathing heavily.

Monica couldn't sleep. She lied awake, staring at the ceiling.

In the morning, she woke up to find that Chandler was ahead of her. He had already gotten out of bed and was showering in the bathroom. She could hear the kids chatting quietly in their bedroom, but guessed it would take them another half-hour or so before they'd start hurling teddies at each other.

As she was about to go downstairs, she heard the home phone ring and went back to her room, wondering who'd call at such an early hour.

It was the restaurant's number, she answered while putting her robe on. "Hello," she said walking over to the twins' room to check on them.

"Hi, Monica. We couldn't reach you on your phone so I thought I'd call your home."

"My phone?" She walked back to her room and found her phone turned off. "Oh, it's off. It didn't charge overnight. What's going on?"

"Well, one of the kitchen's drains backed up and flooded, and we're in the middle of running breakfast service but we can't do any prep or washing. We had to turn off the water."

She exhaled, unable to hide her displeasure in her voice. "Geoffrey, who was it?"

"We don't know what or who caused it …"

"Geoffrey. I swear to God if I come down there—"

"Ok, it was Toby. He jammed a temporary fix with paper towels weeks ago into the drain … and kind of … forgot about it."

"That's not the first time," Monica warned.

"It was an honest mistake."

"I'm coming down there, we have back up clean dishes, you can use those in the meantime but let's call Sal."

She hung up and sighed deeply. It was Sunday and she hadn't slept. When it rained it poured. At least, a restaurant disaster had the merit of making her forgot last night's worriment.

"Honey?"

"Yeah," Chandler answered from the bathroom.

"My phone is dead. Can I use yours to call Sal?"

"Sure."

Monica plugged her phone to the charger and reached for Chandler's phone. She typed his passcode and was about to enter the plumber's phone number when a notification popped up.

A text message.

• • • _Went to the doctor, the baby is doing great._

She just stared at it, unable to process the enormity of what she was seeing. Before she could control herself, she checked the previous messages. They were all coming from a "BM" with Chandler answering each time.

• • • _I can't talk at home._

• • • _Running late, let's meet at Starbucks. 6PM._

• • • _Tell me about the baby when you get back._

Her chest was rising and falling, her brain drowned with panicky thoughts. The messages all dated back to right before Andrew's birthday, when she started suspecting something was off. Except it wasn't something off, something she couldn't rationalize. It was all there on a screen and incredulity was winning over.

"Honey, you still there?"

She heard Chandler say, but she couldn't answer, or speak at all. She could only feel the tears rising as she sat down on the edge of the bed, barely able to still hold the phone.

Chandler appeared from the bathroom, his hair still damp and a towel over his waist.

"Mon, is everything—" his voice trailed off as he stopped in his tracks at her sight.

Monica looked up from the phone to stare at him, her breath short and tears rolling down her eyes, no longer able to hold them back. Her life was unraveling, as if the husband standing before her had been kidnapped and replaced by a stranger.

She turned the phone to face him and watched him run his hand through his hair, looking defeated. Secretly, she was hoping for a magical, miraculous explanation but the proof in her hand was too damning, and she couldn't take another lie.

She only wanted the truth now even if she wasn't ready to face it.


	6. The Baby With The Bathwater

A long time ago, Chandler thought that marriage was a flawed system. The idea of committing to forever absurd. _Who can commit to doing something forever?_ He would ask himself. People changed, lives changed, circumstances changed.

As far as he was concerned, marriage was a lie. _Till death us do part_ was an arrogant, presumptuous promise. A gamble with bad odds.

_Till thy partner's cheating ways thee do part_. _Till thy houseboy us do part_. Those were the more likely scenarios from his own experience.

The marriages he witnessed growing up had inflicted permanent damage to his psyche, that was easy to self-diagnose, he admitted—it scarred him with the bone-deep conviction that husbands and wives were liars and marriage a cruel joke, the punchline of which often came at the expense of the kids.

He also knew deep down it was a fear of rejection. Marriage meant love, love meant vulnerability and vulnerability lead inevitably to hurt and pain, and he thought he had been through enough of hurt and pain in life, and a whole bunch of embarrassment and humiliation in addition to that.

So, when he loved for the first time, it was out of fear of dying alone, then he loved out of infatuation but it wasn't until he fell in love with Monica that he grasped the true meaning of the word.

Monica was so sure about so many things. She had an unwavering belief in herself and in her goals, what she had to do and where she was going. It was so easy to get swept up in her faith about love, marriage, kids. It was infectious.

By the time they got married, he still didn't know if he believed in marriage as an institution, but he believed in Monica, their union and their love, their _forever_. That was enough.

If anyone in the world could make marriage work, it would be Monica. And if she married him, then it would be them. Because she always won, conquered whatever she tackled. And his love for her was the one thing he was always sure of.

Monica made it so much easier than he ever expected it to be. _Relationships take work_, she often said, as if not to jinx it, not to take what they had for granted, keeping him on his toes but he knew and she knew, it was never an issue to make marriage work for them. In fact, even before they exchanged rings and vows at the altar, they were more married than most married couples.

There were some things they kept from each other—the location of her candy stash and his cigarettes stash—but from the start of their relationship, they never kept dark secrets from each other, they didn't say things they couldn't take back to hurt one another. They had fights, bickered, got jealous; when they got on each other's nerves or when one of them was simply itching for an argument but they would always cool off soon after, and come back to find a way.

Their love always found a way.

He wanted to keep that in mind at that moment, as Monica was holding his phone to him, in tears and a look of hurt and disappointment in her eyes. A look he wished he'd never see in her eyes ever again. Though he knew he had the truth on his side, and it would relieve her pain, he wasn't sure the disappointment would completely go away. Albeit forced, unwanted, imposed, a lie was a lie.

"What is this?" she asked once she regained control of her breathing.

It was this horrible cloud of tension that suddenly appeared before him. "What?" he instinctively asked, he got closer as she started scrolling through his text messages.

"Who's this 'BM' and why are you texting her about meeting in secret and a baby?" she persisted, her voice more controlled now, but her shaking chin betraying her.

"Monica, why are you reading my messages? Do you not trust me at all?"

"No, no, don't do that ... I found this text message and you've been acting weird all week. Don't pretend otherwise. What the hell are you hiding, Chandler? Is it what I'm thinking?"

"Oh yes?" He said in an ominous tone he instantly regretted. "What is it that you're thinking?"

"You know what I'm thinking."

Chandler's eyes widened. "What? God no, Monica!" he snapped. "Would you stop that! Is it too much to ask that you don't assume the absolute worst of me?"

He could see her breaking off and panting, and the vein in her forehead twitching, it was as if she realized she had crossed a line and was terrified. She stared at him for a few silent moments, and he could see a million things passing through her eyes until she sat down, leaving the phone on the bed and holding her head down in her hands.

Chandler sighed. He got rid of the towel around his waist, reached for his pajama pants and quickly put them on then sat on the bed beside her.

"Erica got in touch with me," he said in a quiet voice.

Monica looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowing, unable to speak for an instant. "Erica?"

"Yes. Erica."

Chandler tentatively reached out a hand, landing over hers. "BM is for Birth Mother. The other day, she responded to our email and called me to talk in person, and made me promise not to tell you."

She blinked and took a deep breath at the revelation. "What?"

"Monica, listen to me. I know I should've told you, she made me promise because she didn't want to hurt you," he insisted in a distressed tone then sighed, running a hand through his still-wet hair. "I―I'm sorry."

"I don't understand." Her voice burst forth in a roar. "Why would you promise that?"

"She needed help, so she called me. She wouldn't―couldn't tell you because she thinks you'd be hurt."

"Why would I be hurt?" She stared at his face again, her chest falling and rising, waiting for an explanation.

"Erica's pregnant," Chandler said, and paused to gauge her reaction. He could see her head spinning like a kaleidoscope. "She's keeping it and needed help. She has no one. But she doesn't want to see the twins again … And she didn't want to, I guess, disappoint you. I didn't know what to do, I was going to tell you, believe me, it killed me inside, I just―"

"She's here? Pregnant?"

"Yes. She doesn't know anybody in New York, the father is a deadbeat and she ran away from him … She needed money and help."

"Oh, God. She didn't want me to know?"

He just shook his head sadly. "To avoid hurting your feelings."

"To avoid hurting my feelings?" Her voice rose shrilly, and a nervous, caustic cackle followed. "Well, that didn't work then."

"Monica," Chandler said, leaning to hug her or really, to make any kind of physical contact that would soothe her, but she cut him off and stood up, pacing around the room.

"I―" she started to say when her phone rang. "I have to go to work, there's an emergency and I have to drop the kids at their soccer practice."

"We need to talk about this, Mon. You're not in a state to drive."

"Talk? I wasn't supposed to know, remember?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You're not going to drive the kids, Mon. Look at your hands, they're shaking."

"Oh, aren't I a poor fragile thing? You know what, I'm not driving the kids to soccer, you can do that. I'm taking the Porsche."

"Monica, would you stop being so stubborn and listen to me?"

She opened the first drawer from her bedside table and took out car keys, another flare of anger shooting through her while avoiding to look at her husband. "I need to go."

She left, slamming the door to their bedroom on her way out.

"Damn it," Chandler muttered. He reached for his phone and threw it on the bed.

* * *

• • • _I don't like the way we left things. We need to talk about this._

Chandler sent yet another text message to Monica. The fifth one since he arrived at the soccer field with the twins and Andrew, and still no answer. He sighed and focused back on Andrew who was playing in a chaotic drill with the under four-years-old section, his son was running in the wrong direction but grinning like a Cheshire cat until the referee came over and turned him around, sending him heading in the right direction without Andrew realizing he'd been turned. Chandler allowed himself to laugh for the first time of the day, then he looked at Jack, playing with the under-six boys. Jack didn't run a lot, instead, he waited for the ball to come at his feet before deigning to contribute to the game. Chandler knew he would rather be staying home playing with his trains sets or reading about planes and he couldn't blame him. Monica insisted their kids needed to try a little of "everything", including team sports, to raise well-rounded children. Or at least, as well-rounded as kids with skinny legs and bad coordination could be.

He switched his attention to Erica, who was playing a real game of soccer compared to her siblings. She was captain of her team, constantly with the ball, and he couldn't help but feel stupidly proud, watching her with her ponytail bouncing as she pelted across the grass. Truthfully, he wasn't a fan of soccer practice, driving kids on Sundays at ungodly hours went against everything he stood for, but Erica loved soccer. It didn't matter if kids' soccer was more like a drunk, uncoordinated version of the sport, it made his little girl happy, and that was well worth the sacrifice.

The kids didn't seem fazed by the absence of their mother who usually took Sunday off from work for their soccer games. The title of Soccer Mom didn't do Monica justice. She was also the Snack Mom, with orange slices in Ziploc bags and homemade lemonade ready to refresh the kids at the end of games. She was the Volunteer Coach, and pretty much the only one who could get a bunch of five-years-old to run in the same direction without hitting each other in the head with the ball when her predecessors were reduced to tears by that challenge alone, and she was the first and foremost Cheerleader Mom of the Pelham Pelicans, designing the team's new outfits, caps, and handing out foam fingers for the other supporting parents.

Chandler was delighted he had remembered the oranges Monica had prepared and the water bottles. It wasn't half of what Monica achieved, but judging by the other parents, it was a solid effort on his part. Thankfully, the kids were too busy to notice. Andrew was now running in yet another different direction, Jack changed positions to be his team's goalkeeper and barely paying attention to the game at this point while Erica had scored yet another goal.

Multiple whistles were blown to signal the end of games, Erica was the first to flung herself at her dad, nearly knocking him down.

"All done, we won! Again!" She was grinning like a puppy, followed by her twin brother who was dragging himself across the field.

"We lost, I think", Jack said. "I'm not sure, can we have ice cream now, Daddy?"

Chandler smiled at their antagonistic reactions, and at their hair flopping around and the sweet smell of kid sweat still enjoyable at their age. He waited and finally, Andrew joined them. He immediately sat on the grass and started tugging off his shoes.

"Where is Mommy?" he asked as he struggled with the laces.

Chandler looked over at his three children now all sitting on the floor, quietly eating the orange slices he handed to them. Yes, it was far too early for a Sunday and soccer was boring, tiring and all the adults at the field that day were most likely seething inside, longing to be home savoring a lazy weekend morning. But he was enjoying it, there wasn't a better way to get to spend weekends and getting to know his children's personalities around other kids and without parents.

He just wished Monica was there with them.

It was true for a time―a very long time―he was scared of long-term relationships, marriage and kids but secretly he knew he wanted it, all of it, but had bought into the idea that the problem had to be him, that there was some essential unfixable flaw. Whether it was his fear of commitment, his feeling of being inherently unworthy or that he could never find one person who would understand him, understand his wounds and where they came from. Safety, love, comfort seemed to escape him, in family and in love.

But looking down at his children, sweating, panting, having fun together, he had achieved that for him and for them. It was a miraculous thing, and it was all thanks to the first woman to give him that confidence, comfort, and self-belief.

And he realized how far he had come, how she had redefined what marriage meant to him. Now they were Chandler and Monica, the all-new and improved version of the Bings. The Bings 2.0 didn't let fights fester and bitterness take over love. He wouldn't let that happen, but he also knew she needed time and space to process the bombshell he dropped on her.

"Mommy's working today. Let's get ice cream."

* * *

Back home, Chandler gave the kids a bath, then dropped Jack at Boy Scouts and Erica at her dance school before putting Andrew down for his afternoon nap. He tried to watch TV but kept checking his phone, all his messages were still left with no answer. She could be busy he reasoned, but truth was, they usually exchanged texts all day, and he was aching to see his wife and talk to her.

After a moment, he turned the TV off and called their babysitter.

An hour later, he was on Park Avenue, after stopping by a coffee shop to order two Decaf Cappuccinos before entering Javu, the restaurant was quiescent at this time of the day.

He took a deep breath before addressing the Maître D' at the reception desk. "Hi, Geoffrey."

"Chandler, hi." Geoffrey extended his hand and Chandler reluctantly shook it after a moment of hesitation. "Monica's busy in the kitchen, we had a―"

"An emergency, I know."

Chandler knew he was being unfair to the guy, he hadn't done anything wrong but still, he just couldn't like him.

"I wouldn't go in if I were you," Geoffrey added. "She's not in a great mood." He then proceeded to make some kind of cutthroat gesture around a laugh.

Chandler couldn't believe his wife ever found this guy funny once upon a time. "Right. I'll go in."

He ignored Geoffrey and walked to the kitchen, he crept into the room and there she was, in a crouched position, handling some kind of tool and working on one of the pipes as the plumber, Sal, was standing beside her, looking miffed.

He coughed exaggeratedly, and she turned back, a surprised look suddenly appearing on her face.

Without a word, she stood up and smoothed her apron, turning to Sal, "Um, Sal, I'll let you finish, I think it's pretty much fixed."

Sal grumbled something under his breath and Monica motioned for Chandler to follow her as she took off her apron, and they went outside through the back door. She sat on the fire escape staircase.

"Sometimes I feel like I need to do everything around here," she said, tilting her head toward the kitchen.

Chandler nodded with a smile and handed her the coffee cup. "Your favorite."

She accepted it and smiled shyly as their eyes met. Chandler took it as a sign and sat beside her. Usually, after arguments, she'd give him the cold shoulder for a while as they went on about their day separately but once she saw his face, she would find it hard to stay mad at him. It was a loophole Chandler was more than happy to take advantage of.

"Monica, I'm sorry, I should have told you, I―"

"So she's pregnant?"

"Four months."

"I had the right to know."

Her straight-to-the-point and no-nonsense attitude was one of the things Chandler loved about her. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying you're sorry."

And her honesty, Chandler enjoyed that, too. "Not until you forgive me," he said, shifting his head to meet her eyes.

Monica pursed her lips. "Of course, I forgive you. You know that."

She smiled a small smile, which broadened once he'd bent down and kissed her.

"That would be Jack and Erica's brother or sister," she said in a thoughtful tone.

Chandler smiled. "That's what I told her too. I wrote her a check to help with the doctor's visits."

"Good. You did the right thing."

Chandler felt a sudden swoon of gratitude that they were always on the same page when it mattered. Monica held her cup with both hands and looked down. "I still want to see her and I want to help. I want to be involved."

He sighed. "Monica, I'm not sure …"

"It's ok if she doesn't want to see the twins again. I can't just … do nothing. I have to help her. Please?"

"_We _will help her."

After a pause, Monica reached for her husband's hand. "I'm sorry for assuming the worst this morning, that was unfair."

He shook his head and his fingers curled around Monica's. "I shouldn't have given you an excuse to doubt me. Monica, listen to me," he said, lifting her chin. "I would _never ever_ risk what we have."

Monica blushed then leaned to kiss him on the lips, firmly. "I hate it when we fight," she said around a small laugh.

"I do too. It's not a good color on us, is it?"

She snorted. "Definitely not on me. My staff wasn't too thrilled this morning."

"Did you rip _Funny_ _Geoffrey_ a new one?"

"He was on the receiving end for most of it."

They laughed together.

"Mon, we'll get through this. Together. Okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

Chandler squeezed Ken The Kangaroo into the swing next to Andrew's. Once he got it jammed to his satisfaction, he began pushing both swings, on his son's insistence. It seemed to Chandler, Andrew was convinced he and the stuffed animal held equal claims to his parents' attention. Monica was standing in another swing on her son's side while Chandler was between Andrew's and Ken's swing. Soon enough, both Andrew and Ken The Kangaroo were swinging in near unison, Andrew laughing as his strands of brown hair were spiking in the air.

"Daddy, I'm flying!" Andrew shouted, hypnotized and thrilled by the motion.

"You're flying, buddy. But hold tight to the rope, ok?"

"But I want to fly."

Chandler shook his head and slowed down the swing as he looked over at Monica.

"Mommy, push Kenny higher!"

Monica stood and went over Ken's swing. "What do we say first?"

Andrew grumbled. "Mommy, please push Kenny with me, please, please?" he repeated with a little pout and sad eyes, the kind that would melt icebergs.

Monica pushed the stuffed kangaroo's swing as Chandler pushed Andrew's. They looked at each other and smiled.

Andrew continued to soar to greater and greater heights, with a delicious mixture of glee and enchantment on his face, his laughter resounding with peals of childish joy.

"I think Andrew is going to want to be a pilot when he grows up or you know, a base jumper. He knows no fear," Chandler said.

"Oh God, I don't want to even think about it."

"We should consider investing in some wine and Prozac."

Monica stopped the swing motion. "Andy, sweetie, let's slow down, all right?"

"No, faster, Mommy! I want to go higher!"

"This is my worst nightmare," Monica told Chandler as she resumed pushing her son.

Chandler laughed. "Well, I was a wimpy kid―and still am―so this is all on you."

"Oh, so it's my fault?"

"Just be glad when he climbs to the top of the Everest, he'll thank his mother on national TV."

"At this rate, both Erica and Andrew are going to make our hair go very grey very soon. At least, Jack prefers the quiet."

Chandler nodded. "You know, his teacher still thinks he's gifted. Like really, _really_ smart."

"Well, Jack has always been smart. Erica is smart too."

"I know she is, honey."

"So what does she say about her? Is Erica doing ok?"

"Yes, for the most part, she's a little too competitive she said."

Monica turned and pointed her finger at him. "Don't give me that look!"

"Her words, not mine, honey," he said, kissing her temple. "She said that Jack gets easily bored because it seems too easy for him. I mean, I kind of see it. Do you remember that one time I thought he was already asleep and I read him a Dylan Thomas poem because I couldn't stand reading The Story of Babar one more time? And the next morning, he came down to breakfast reciting the whole thing back almost word by word? He's always had a great memory."

"Yeah, I guess. He does love doing homework. Erica always forgets about school the moment she sets foot home." Monica said thoughtfully.

Chandler nodded, then looked at his watch. "Speaking of the little devils, we should go get them."

As Chandler was driving, he glanced at Monica and found her in deep thought, a wistful look in her eyes.

"I don't like the idea of splitting up Jack and Erica. It's too soon," she said.

"I know," Chandler agreed. "We'll find a solution, we'll check that advanced program, they'll just be in a different class a couple of days a week. So, are you ok with Jack doing the test?"

"I guess. I have to be, right? I don't want Jack to be bored in class. It's just―"

"Erica."

Monica sighed and nodded. "I know what it's like to have a smarter sibling. I never felt smart enough because well, nobody cared that I made the best cookies. It was all about how Ross was brilliant and I was desperately trying to even the field. I still do," she said, frowning her eyebrows. "I don't want Erica to feel like that."

"Monica, we'll never let that happen. Jack being advanced doesn't make him better or worse than Erica or Andrew. Erica will find her spotlight and when she does—and you know she will, she is a star—we will support her and praise her for that." He reached his hand to hold hers. "Like your parents _should have_ encouraged you and your cooking because you were a star."

Monica's eyes were shining at his words, full of affection. "You're so sweet," she said, blinking to retain the tears and kissing his hand. "And wise! When did you get to be so wise?"

"Somewhere between reading The Story of Babar for the hundredth time and that Dylan Thomas poem."

She laughed as they arrived at Erica's dance school. Chandler parked the car and Monica opened the door but Chandler reached for her hand before she left.

"You know, you will always be their mother."

"I know," she said, smiling softly. "Chandler, I need to talk to her. I have to."

He nodded.

He would make it happen.


	7. Thicker Than Blood

Growing up, Monica loved Thanksgiving more than any other holiday. Not Christmas, not Hanukkah but Thanksgiving, the all-American holiday. The one holiday in their home without tip-toeing, trying to fit both Jewish and Christian traditions, to satisfy both relatives from her father's side and her mother's side. Thanksgiving was straightforward, it was a celebration of peace and prosperity and above all, good food, her favorite thing in the world.

While the company for Thanksgiving changed and celebrating it with family was no longer an option, the holiday was still dear to her heart. All the more reason as she became the hostess and surrogate-mother to another kind of family.

Monica still had vivid memories of the first Thanksgiving meal she hosted―it had been quite the failure. With the wisdom of entering her forties, there was one lesson life had hammered her with that she had finally accepted: sometimes, there was no success like failure. It was a lesson and a revelation. Thanksgiving wasn't about the turkey, or the parade, or the football games. Sure, it wouldn't be the same without all those things, but Chandler, of all people, reminded them on that first Thanksgiving, that it was a holiday about getting the family together―the one they chose―and being thankful they had each other, at the best of times and the worst of times, about the home they found in each other and the food they shared, whether it was stuffed turkey, any kind of potatoes or grilled cheese sandwiches. The six of them, sitting around the table; the magic was in the simplicity of it all, in celebrating how wonderful their ordinary lives were when they lived them together.

She often reflected on how fitting that her favorite holiday was the one Chandler hated more than anything in the world. It was all very Greek, and appropriate that the first time they met had to be on Thanksgiving. Like some kind of cosmic-ironic game the Gods cooked up to amuse themselves, to see how their personalities would clash on that day. She was a cheerful teenager and he was a moody, aloof young man, she loved to cook Thanksgiving food and he hated eating Thanksgiving food, she had a crush on him and he hurt her feelings like no one else had before. Like a chemical experiment gone awry, the result transformed their relationship into an entirely new substance―from infatuation to the wish to hurt him, then regret and an everlasting friendship born from the whole fiasco.

She knew for all the maturing Chandler went through, he wouldn't openly admit that each year that passed since they had gotten together, his despise for the merriment of the season progressively dissipated―gastronomically, he went from tomato soup and grilled cheese to roast chicken―and how could he not? The holiday was the hallmark of their story and if their relationship had to be encapsulated by one special day, it would be that day. The first time they met, the day she 'branded' him as he often joked now, the first time Those Three Words slipped out of him and the day they were blessed with the news of adoption. With time, he hated it a little less, and she couldn't love it more. The wedge had slowly turned into a bridge of friendship, love, and family.

Monica looked past the car window and basked in the rays of the chill fall sun, breaking out in bursts as they drove through New York. Her thoughts drifted to the memories of all those past Thanksgivings, the smells and the colors made her feel like ten again, when they drove through Long Island for the holidays to visit their grandparents.

She remembered the last time they spent Thanksgiving in the City. A few weeks later, they were on a plane to Ohio in order to meet Erica.

At that thought, she turned her head to Chandler, eyes fixated on the road. He never looked so strong―Chandler might never win a fistfight but it didn't matter, it never mattered. He was a Goliath to her, her rock in hardships, and she loved him all the more for it.

"She wasn't happy you told me, was she?" she said finally.

He glanced at her before his gaze returned to the road, with a smile appearing at the corners of his lips. "I told her she knows you. The reason I had to tell you was the same reason she picked us."

Monica smiled back at him, her hand going to his thigh, squeezing him affectionately. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Of course, Erica knew her. From the first moment they met, Monica had felt an unexplainable bond with her. She had gone as far as to go with the lie born out of a paperwork mistake because she had that gut feeling—Erica was the one, she was carrying their baby. She just knew it. She was never like Phoebe, going with the flow, trusting the wind would take her where she needed to be, with an almost prescient instinct, or even like Rachel, who believed in soulmates and fate. She was too much of a realist, but on that day, it was a vision. Erica was the bearer of their miracle.

They arrived in Manhattan and she thought of her as they passed Times Square, Rockefeller Center, The Empire State Building—places they visited with Erica for her first time in New York and Chandler had been like a child that day. She smiled to herself, maybe it was his trepidation at the idea of becoming a father or simply, dropping his too-cool-for-school persona for a couple of hours and truly enjoying himself.

"Listen," Chandler said, bringing her out of her reveries. "Go easy on her, she's a little lost right now."

"Did you think I was going to yell at her? I just want to help. Did you tell her that I just want to help and nothing else?"

Chandler sighed with a smile. "I did, honey."

"Good," she said. "Oh God, I'm so nervous. I don't think I was this nervous the day we met her."

"It's okay." He clasped her hand with his and kissed her knuckles. "It will be okay."

There was a pause. Monica watched her husband's calm face, and pondered telling him what was on her mind.

He turned to her with a quizzical grin as he slowed down the car at a stop sign, and cut her off. "What are you thinking about, honey?"

She bit her lip at his question. He could read her like an open book. "Just … Thanksgiving memories."

"Blech," Chandler said with a grimace and eyes squeezed shut.

"Oh, come on," she said, cocking her head to the side. "You cannot possibly still hate it."

"I don't," he replied with such a soft voice, it melted her heart.

"You remember our first Thanksgiving? It all started then."

"I do," he said, shaking his head around a laugh. "Sometimes I wish I had a time machine just to slap nineteen-years-old me and tell him to stop being a jerk. I still feel bad that I ever hurt you like that."

"It's okay, honey. I still feel bad about your toe."

"Eh, don't. You were just branding me, you know—"

"Marking my territory," she said before he did, anticipating the end of his sentence. He looked at her lovingly, and she kept her eyes on him. The face she knew so well, sandy hair, blue eyes, deep dimples, and smiled knowingly at him.

* * *

Monica's breath hitched the moment Erica stepped into the restaurant. She immediately noticed the subtle distinguishing changes pregnancy has on a woman's body, the baggy shirt she was wearing hiding a bump and her waddling walk. Monica felt a heightened sense of obligation to offer help with anything she might need. Something had shifted at that moment, Erica had always somehow occupied a large space in her brain, she was grateful, but now it was something else. It felt like a debt bigger than ever before. She felt Chandler's hand squeezing hers, making her look at him as he nodded to keep her calm.

She stood up as Erica arrived at their table. Erica glanced around then looked at Monica with a worried expression, and those few moments felt like hours.

Finally, Monica took a step forward, with no greetings needed, she scooped Erica in for a tight hug. She felt her muscles clench at first but then, Erica melted into the embrace, and her head rested on Monica's shoulder as her muscles relaxed.

Monica was the first to back away, she looked at Erica with a smile which she returned.

"How are you?" she asked, glancing at her belly.

"Good."

"Chandler told me the visit to the doctor went well."

"Yes, it did. The baby, she's doing well."

Monica's face lit up. "She?"

"I wanted to find out the sex of the baby. I didn't want what happened last time to happen again. I smartened up!"

Monica turned to Chandler, who was sporting a huge grin. "It's a girl, oh my God!"

"Congratulations," he told Erica.

They all sat at their table, and there was silence again until Chandler spoke up.

"Actually, Erica, we also have some news. We think Jack is gifted. He's pretty smart, both of the twins are," Chandler said, a dreamy look on his face. "I think you got something to do with it."

"Oh. Thank you. Maybe it's their father. I thought Jack might inherit that."

"Well, Eri is actually better at sports than Jack."

She smiled, then her smile faded away. She looked at Monica. "I hope I didn't create problems between you two. Please don't be mad at Chandler."

Monica looked at her husband then sighed blissfully. "I was a little mad at him but it's okay, don't worry."

"She can never stay mad at me for too long."

"It might be true but you don't have to be so smug about it."

They shared a knowing smile and Erica looked at them.

"Wow, you two … you're so great together, I'm so happy the twins are with you," Erica said, looking away as her eyes filled with tears. "Some days, I miss them so much. Some days, I want them back and I know it's impossible and I won't do it or say it. It was too hard moving on … The agency people, they tell you what might happen but nothing really prepares you for this. You know, realizing I would never, ever be their mother."

Monica landed a hand over hers. "Erica, you are their mother, we both are."

"No, I appreciate it. But it's okay. It's something I have learned, I'm still learning to live with. I am grateful to both of you, and the loan … I hope one day I can repay you."

"It's not a loan, Erica," Chandler said with determination. "It's money for our children's sister, and for you, and we're the ones who are grateful. We are the ones who can never repay you. No amount of money is enough for what you did for us. You gave birth to our children, anything we can do to help you, we will do."

"I have something else to tell you."

Her voice was tight. Chandler and Monica looked at each other expectantly.

"Erica and Jack's dad, I .. I've been talking to him for the past few weeks. Chandler, I couldn't say anything until I was sure. He didn't know about the twins, so I told him and we've been working on repairing our relationship. I guess we really bonded."

"So you and Jason … are together?" Monica asked.

"Yes. Jason lives in California. He was playing football in college but he got injured. He's a high school PE teacher in Napa now. He's a really good guy and he wants to be with me and to be here for my daughter."

"You're leaving for California," Chandler said, resigned as the realization hit Monica.

"He has a place, a good job and I could get a job over there. You know, it's early for him but I hope one day, he'd be ready to meet the twins."

"Yeah, we'd like that."

Monica swallowed. "That's great and we're really happy for you, Erica," she paused. "What about the twins? I hoped they could get to know their little sister."

"I will send you pictures. I don't want to promise you anything. Monica, you know how a child changes your life, but … I'll try. Is that ok?"

"It's okay."

They stayed silent a few moments as the news sank in.

"You know, since I am leaving and I don't know when I'll be back … I'd like to say goodbye."

* * *

Monica and Chandler always knew they wanted an open adoption. They wanted their kid's biological parents to be part of his or her life. Open adoption was supposed to be the better choice, and in many ways, it was, for all involved. Yet, it was also a choice that laid bare stressful, painful, psychologically taxing situations. The kind that happened in any family, in this case, an extended family of some sort. Her and Chandler were bound together for life with Erica, and to Jason, the twins' father whom Erica hadn't informed of the pregnancy at the time and had left for college, and now he was back in her life, and he was going to raise her daughter while having never met his own children. Maybe he needed time to process the life-changing information, or maybe he'd never want to meet them or look back at that part of his life. It was anyone's guess at this point. This was part of the open adoption package: instability, unpredictability, constantly changing relationships and lives intertwining to create a complex form of family. There were no clean breaks, no simple arrangements.

Erica and Jack were in the backyard, sitting on their little chairs with their birth mother by their side. They were quiet and intrigued and laughing cheerfully at times with her.

Monica felt all kinds of emotions rushing through. Joy and relief at the sight of the twins joyously playing and reacting well to seeing their birth mother for the first time in years, probably the first time they were going to remember for the rest of their lives. She also felt fear, jealousy, and insecurity. Erica looked so much like her daughter and she could see where Jack got his gentle and kind nature. She could see so much of Erica in them the same way she could see herself and Chandler in Andrew.

But it was their moment, their secret garden so she turned away from the window and sat beside Chandler at the kitchen table. He was working on his computer—-to distract himself if she had to guess. He put his glasses over his head and looked at her. "It's going well?"

"I think so. Do you think Jason would want to meet them one day?"

"I honestly don't know."

"It's so strange to think they're together now and they're going to have a child ... And I … Chandler, what if the twins grow up and ask to go live with them?"

"Mon, look at me. They won't. They're our children and we're their parents. They're happy with us, they love us. They adore you."

"But what about when they're teenagers, you know? And they're rebellious and—"

Chandler got up from his chair and hugged her from behind, kissing her hair. "We can't predict anything. Let's not project all these bad thoughts … Our babies are happy and we're happy. Let's work on keeping it this way."

Monica nodded and agreed. Sometimes, she would go into a frenzy and her mind would turn into a pinball machine of worries and anxiety, and a couple of words from Chandler were enough to shut it down.

An hour later, Erica emerged in the kitchen with the twins, sniffling her tears. Jack and Erica went back to play with Andrew in the living room as Erica hugged Chandler and Monica goodbye, gave them a picture of the sonogram, and promised to write and send pictures of her daughter when she'd be born. Monica nodded, and they watched her leave in a cab. And just like that, she was gone. She knew it would be the last time for a long time they'd see her. It was heartbreaking, soul-splitting and relieving.

All part of the adoption package.

The twins were cuddly that night before going to bed, but other than that, it was just another day in their short little lives. They played with Andrew, watched their favorite cartoons and asked for their favorite stories to be read to them with bright eyes.

Monica watched them sleep in their matching superhero pajamas and wondered what they would remember from this day when they grew up.

* * *

All eyes were on Phoebe around the table as Chandler was clearing the plates while Monica was putting the final touches to her trademark Thanksgiving pumpkin pie at the kitchen counter.

"So, we were sitting on the pool table, and like, kissing and everything, and the moment Ross pulls me down, all the stupid balls got in the way," Phoebe said, then sharply turned to Chandler. "Chandler, don't!" she added just as his mouth opened. She then paused, shaking her head. "It was really awkward and uncomfortable and we couldn't possibly … go all the way."

"Oh my God!" Rachel said, around an uncontrollable laugh. "I can't believe you almost slept with _Ross_."

"Hey!" Ross shouted to her. "Shouldn't you be jealous or something instead of finding it so hilarious?"

"I'm sorry, honey. It's just … you're really not Phoebe's type, it's so hard to picture. I don't even get how it happened."

"Well, Carol just told me she was lesbian. I was really sad—"

"No, I mean, Phoebe, how? Why?"

Ross rolled his eyes and Chandler patted him on the shoulder. Monica smiled at the scene and joined them at the table again.

"Oh, I might have had a special muffin or two that day."

"That's really good for my ego," Ross deadpanned.

"The lesson is," Phoebe argued, "two friends sleeping together on a whim is always a bad idea and sex on a pool table is overrated."

"I get what you mean, Pheebs," Monica chimed in, taking a sip from her glass of wine.

Chandler turned to her and frowned his eyebrows. "Erm, hello? We slept together on a whim, in very similar circumstances! You were the Ross!"

"The Geller pity sex thing is very effective," Phoebe whispered to Mike beside her.

Chandler gesticulated at her. "Shh, kids," he said, motioning his head toward the living room where all of their kids were sitting and nodding off in front of the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special on TV.

"It's ok, they're sleepy from all the food and they're more interested in Charlie's adventures than their parents' old sexcapades."

Monica laughed then leaned to squeeze her husband's shoulder. "Chandler, I wasn't talking about the pity sex thing, I was agreeing about pool table sex."

"We never had sex on a pool table—" he trailed off as realization hit him. "Wait, you had sex on a pool table?"

Monica looked over the table, Ross was looking down his plate, crestfallen, and Mike was shifting awkwardly in his chair.

"Well, yeah, I told this story before."

"Um, not to me, you didn't," Chandler said, gesticulating with his head.

"Oh, I guess you weren't there. It was back in culinary school … Do you want to hear about my sexcapades before we got together?"

"Oh, now it's _sexcapades_?"

"You were there for the entirety of my adult life, you know who I've been with, do we really need to do the whole 'how many guys did you sleep with' … _now_?"

"It's never too late."

Monica took a deep breath and looked sternly at him. "We have 3 kids!"

Joey laughed smugly. "Jeez, you really were like rabbits before I came into the group."

"Joey, you stripped naked in my apartment the moment we met."

"Your definition of friendship is very strange," Mike said, visibly uncomfortable.

"Sweetie, don't worry. We just thought about it but nothing really happened," Phoebe reassured him. "Except for Chandler and Monica, they really were doing it like rabbits behind our backs. And sometimes in front of us and up against the window."

"Okay!" Ross exclaimed, getting up. "I think it's time for dessert and a change of subject."

Monica smiled at her brother and brought the pie to the table.

"So, are the twins ok with Erica leaving?" Rachel asked, to Ross's relief.

"I think so," Chandler said. "As much as they can understand a complicated situation like that. I think it was good for them to see her though. There's no point in hiding things, and kids are smarter than they seem. Erica was thrilled, really and Jack was fascinated, they know we love them and we only want the best for them. You know, they're the best thing that happened to us with Andy, the least we can do is tell them the truth about where they're from."

Ross's face turned to mush, he hugged Chandler suddenly. "I'm really glad my sister married you, man."

"Joe, are you crying?"

"My boy is all grown up!"

The phone rang at that moment. Chandler stood up and went to pick up while Monica was serving the pies.

"Honey, it's your publicist."

"Jen? Now?"

Suddenly, Chandler's eyes went wide, he walked back to the table with his hand over the phone, and whispered, "do you think it could be about …" he paused and drew a star in the air with his finger.

"No, don't jinx it," Monica told him as he handed her the phone. "Hey Jen, happy Thanksgiving," she said, as all of her friends' eyes were now focused on her.

"Yes, I thought we'd get the call next week. Oh, tomorrow, are you sure?" Monica turned her back, listening intently, then finally turned again to face her friends. "We're getting a Michelin star!" Monica exclaimed then cleared her throat, "I mean, yeah we're getting a Michelin star, whatever," she tried to say in a casual tone.

Chandler and Ross jumped out at the news and Rachel squealed. Phoebe, Joey, and Mike waited expectantly, Monica quickly shushed them with her hand.

"Oh, really? Are you sure, Jen? You're not joking, right? I can't believe this," she continued, in a suddenly solemn tone. "Ok, I'll see you Monday, bye."

She hung up the phone, and a sad, blank expression appeared on her face. She looked up at her friends. "We're not getting a star."

"What?" Chandler said, approaching her, "I don't get it, you just said ..."

Monica, still straight-faced, looked at her husband then at her friends. "We're not getting a star because," she said in a quiet voice, "we're actually getting TWO MICHELIN STARS!"

Chandler's mouth dropped open as Monica jumped up and down. He hugged her and lifted her, twirling her once before lowering her again and Ross, Rachel, Joey, Phoebe, and Mike joined in a group hug.

"Amazing, I knew you'd get it," Chandler said, before kissing her firmly on the lips.

"My sister is a two stars chef! I can't believe it! I still remember when you were a chubby little kid forcing me to eat your baked cookies … " Ross exclaimed, his voice strained until Rachel comforted him with a hug.

"Well, technically the restaurant has the stars, but … You know what, let's leave the false modesty for the interviews, I'm a two-Michelin starred chef!"

"Mommy, what's going on?"

They heard Erica say from the living room in a sleepy voice.

"Oh honey, we woke you up, I'm sorry," Chandler said. "Come here."

Erica walked from the couch to the kitchen toward her father who immediately scooped her up. "Your Mommy just won a big prize for her restaurant."

"What prize? Like a cup or a medal?"

"Yes, she just won two medals for her cooking."

"I love Mommy's food."

"A lot of people agree with you, honey. You want to go back to watch TV?"

"Yeah," she said as Chandler lowered her and she walked to Monica. "Mommy, congratulations, I love you."

Phoebe and Rachel awed at the scene as mother and daughter shared an embrace.

Monica walked Erica back to the couch, kissed her hair and smoothed the blonde strands out of her face. "I love you too honey," she said, before going back to the kitchen where Ross had already opened a bottle of wine.

"Aren't you happy I got you the finest bottle of Israeli wine?"

A minute later, they were all drinking and clinking their glasses in her honor.

Monica looked around her house, at her children half-asleep on the couch in front of the television, at Chandler, so softly covering them with a blanket and making sure they were comfortable, and at her friends, celebrating and excited for her success.

"I love Thanksgiving," she said in a wistful, teary voice when her husband was back by her side.

Chandler smiled, putting down his glass of wine, he leaned to kiss her cheek slowly and nuzzle her hair, and whispered in her ear. "I love Thanksgiving too."


	8. The Apple and The Tree

Chandler took the damp morning air into his lungs and started to fall into the hypnotic tempo of his steps as the Jersey Boys soundtrack was blasting through his earphones. The sky was crisply blue, uncharacteristic of wintry mornings. He was jogging through a trail in Pelham Bay Park and as _Beggin'_ started playing, he looked at his watch and stopped, taking deep breaths before sitting on the sidewalk. He pulled out his iPod from his pocket and hit stop on the music.

For a couple of minutes, he took a break, enjoying the quiet and the immensity of the landscape, until the sound of his phone's ringtone shook him out of his trance. He picked up the phone after Ross's name appeared on the screen.

"Hey, man," Chandler said, short of breath and his voice raspy.

"Ew, are you in the middle of sex?"

"What? No, I was running."

There was a pause, and Chandler guessed his brother-in-law was unwilling to believe him.

"You were … running? Sex seems more likely."

"Yes, I was running."

"You, Chandler Muriel Bing, were running?"

Chandler rolled his eyes. It was one of those things. "Yes, _me_. I have a wife and three kids and I'd like to have as much time with them as I can so I'm exercising a bit, to live longer."

He could hear Ross's skepticism through the phone, even with Emma yelling in the background.

"Wait a minute," Ross said in a knowing tone. "Did Monica make you?"

"No," he replied matter-of-factly. "She tried a few times in the past and always failed miserably, she knows better. This is all me."

"Hmm, it's weird. I can't picture you running," Ross said thoughtfully. "Well, Mon must be thrilled."

Chandler grinned. "Of course, she's the first one who gets to reap the benefits."

"Ew! Dude, that's my sister!"

He could picture Ross's face scrunching up in disgust and it made him chuckle. "I know, torturing you never gets old."

"Ok, good for you," Ross said before a pause. "Maybe I should take up running too," he added as if talking to himself.

"Yeah, it's really great. At the end of a run, I can have the odd cigarette, come home all sweaty and take a shower straight away. It's a win-win situation for everybody."

"That's much more like you."

Chandler ignored the dig, and got up to walk toward his car. "So, what's up?"

"Oh yeah, I have to cancel our weekly Basketball game this afternoon. I already told Joey."

He made a face. "What weekly Basketball game?"

"You know, this decade long tradition we have of you, me and Joey playing a game of ball every weekend?"

"We hardly ever play anymore and I'm pretty sure the last five games were canceled. Technically, it's anything but a weekly tradition."

"All right, smartass. I was simply laying my soul bare about one of the hallmarks of our friendship, but fine, I guess, sentimentality is dead," Ross said in his typical over-dramatic tone, Chandler pulled the phone away from his ear until he finished talking.

"Okay, Ross, it's fine. Next time we have a game I'll pick up printed Boys Ball Game Tradition t-shirts or something," he deadpanned in response.

"That's a great idea!" Ross's enthusiasm then came to a halt. "You better not be joking! Anyhoo, Rachel and I kind of had a fight. I don't know if you heard."

Chandler pulled a bottle of Gatorade from the trunk of his car before putting on a training jacket. "Sure, it's you and Rachel, I've read all about it on Page Six."

It was Ross's turn to ignore his gibe. "So, to forgive me, I surprised her and we're going on a trip to Vermont."

"Makes perfect sense."

"You and Monica in?"

"I don't think so, she's really busy with the restaurant, business is booming and I'm spending time with the kids since Jack's test results came back."

"Oh yeah, about that. Congrats, dude. I wonder if Emma and Ben should take the test, I mean, intelligence _is_ hereditary―"

"I hope arrogance is not."

"Fine. I'll stop talking. See you next week then?"

Chandler smiled. "At the Boys Weekly Traditional Ballgame ? Sure."

* * *

Chandler entered the house and found Monica in the living room, getting ready to leave. "Hey, babe."

"Hey."

He walked to her and started to kiss her neck while she was busy inspecting her bag.

"Oh, you're all sweaty and sticky. Go take a shower, I'm late for the restaurant."

"So what? All that sweat from working out, my bulging muscles, the glossy shine of my skin, droplets of sweat trickling down my back ..."

"Oh yes, dirty sweat," she said, pulling away from him. "Be still my beating heart."

Chandler smirked. "I recall you liking it dirty and sweaty a few times."

"Chandler! Not in front of the kids."

He looked at the kids sitting on the couch in front of the TV. "They'll grow up and understand."

"You're going to be ok here? Erica has a bruise on her knee from soccer practice and she's going to make you listen to her part in the Christmas pageant, Jack is buried in some math equation and I have no idea what it is, and Andrew is particularly craving attention today."

He stared at her blankly. "Why did we have kids again? It's escaping me right now."

"Fulfilling the meaning of life or something like that."

He smiled as he leaned to kiss her, and tried to avoid touching her, but she willingly kissed him back, a hand going over his neck. "I'll come home as soon as I can," she said, sighing as she looked at the kids then at him again. "I hate working during the holidays. Why did I become a chef?"

"Because you love it and you're so good at it, rich, sophisticated foodies all the way from Asia and Europe travel to New York to taste your overpriced, delicious food with Vivaldi playing in the background."

She cocked her head to the side, before pecking him on the lips and slapping his backside as she passed him on her way to the door. "I love you."

"I know. Drive safe."

Monica left and Chandler turned to his kids in the living room. There was a suspicious moment of silence, which was never a good sign as far as he was concerned.

Suddenly, Jack had an outburst. "Erica, stop coloring on my book, it's ugly!" he yelled at his sister.

"You're ugly! I'm making it fun."

"This book is not for coloring. Dad!"

Almost mirroring each other, the twins turned to him, waiting for their father to take a side in their kerfuffle, when Andrew jumped from his spot with a drawing in his hand. "Daddy, look, I made something for you."

"Oh boy."

A shower and an hour later, Chandler had joined the kids on the couch. Erica stood in front of the TV, performing to her father with Andrew looking positively impressed and Jack less than thrilled his study time was being disturbed.

"It's the most wonderful time of the year. It's the hap, happiest season of all!"

Chandler had successfully solved everyone's crisis, preventing an escalation that would have needed a UN resolution. He distracted Erica by asking to listen to some of the songs she was going to perform at the school's "Holiday Hoopa" ―an all-inclusive version of a Christmas pageant―leaving Jack quietly working on his math equations, part of the advanced class homework he was given for the holidays. For every other kid it was homework, for Jack it was one of the few worthwhile pastimes that could grab his attention fully.

Chandler was glad he could get a vacation for Christmas and New Year's after Jack's test came back. They had been warned the dynamic between the twins could shift after finding out Jack was gifted. They had to make sure both Erica and Jack were equaled encouraged and supported in their passions and their strengths. At the same time, he knew it would only be detrimental to try and level the field between them. He knew it was a source of worry for Monica and remembered how hurtful it was for her to feel inferior to Ross and even more so when she learned he might have subconsciously messed up to make her look good. Parenting was an eternal damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don't game, and to some extent, he could sympathize with the Gellers but their treatment of Monica was inexcusable to him. He would do everything in his power to never let Erica feel an ounce of that hurt and those feelings of inferiority in her life.

"Very good, Erica!" he said as she bowed to them at the end of her performance.

"I wanna sing with Eri, Daddy," Andrew exclaimed, jumping up and down the couch.

"Go ahead, Andy," he responded, tapping him on the nose.

Andy started his own rendition of It's The Most Wonderful Time Of the Year, singing one word and forgetting about half the rest of the lyrics.

Erica then twirled on one foot with grace and finesse, showing off her new powder-blue tutu. Andy, watching his sister, tried to twirl too, with a lot less skill but looking very proud of himself.

"Look, Daddy, I can twirl!" he announced.

At that moment, Jack looked up from his notebook and put his pen down, Chandler caught a glint in his eye.

"Come on, Jackaroo, you want to give it a try too?"

Jack seemed to ponder as he looked at his father, Chandler nodded in encouragement. Jack stood up and joined his brother and sister, twirling and finishing with his arms wide open.

"That's good, Jack!" Erica said. "Here, I'll show you another one." She went to him and gestured with her hands another dance movement, and now they were both laughing and giggling at themselves and at Andrew beside them. Sometimes that was all it took for them to make up.

"Eri?"

"Yeah?"

"You can color on my book if you want to," Jack said bashfully. "You too, Andy."

"Nemo!" screamed Andy, whose attention switched firmly to the TV screen now. "Daddy, I wanna watch, please?"

The kids looked at Chandler with their best impression of puppy-eyed dogs, each one of them in Christmas-themed jammies with a different color. Chandler felt an overwhelming wave of love for his kids. An hour earlier, they were the evilest little creatures, and now, they could bring peace to the world through the sheer power of their cuteness.

"Let's watch Nemo then," he finally said, scooping Andrew on his lap.

After the movie, the kids had a few cookies and chocolate milk smeared all over their faces, lying on the couch in contentment when a commercial piqued Erica's curiosity.

"Dad! Daddy, look!"

Chandler looked up from his crouched position, cleaning cookies crumbs with Monica's finest vacuum.

"It's Munkustrap!" Erica said.

"Oh yeah, it's Cats. Huh, it's coming to New York."

"Can we go? I love Cats, I'm Grizabella! We can take Mommy."

Chandler shook his head. "Mommy doesn't like people dressed as cats, or cats dressed as people or plain cats for that matter."

"But it's my favorite!" Erica looked at her father with wide eyes. She knew she would get what she wanted, the only question was when. "We could sing Memory all together. _Memory! Turn your face to the moonlight!_"

Chandler cringed, he was left with no choice. "Ok, ok Erica, I'll talk to Mom. Just―let's enjoy some quiet."

"Thank you, Daddy."

Jack shook his head at him and Chandler swore if his son's eyes could speak, they were mumbling _"Suckah"_ to him.

* * *

Monica came home and found Chandler sitting on the couch, with a notebook and a pen in his hand and two glasses of wine on the table.

"Hey, sweetie."

"Hey, babe."

"What are you doing?" she asked, pecking him on the lips and looking over his shoulder.

Chandler took off his glasses. "Oh, just drawing some storyboard ideas for the Hershey's campaign. How was your day?"

"Crazy! I'm on a roll. We had to make these lemon pies for the last service, the last four pies we had. Then Massimo suddenly dropped one of them."

Chandler raised an eyebrow. "Is he dead? Did you come home to ask me where to hide the body? Our backyard won't do the trick."

She nudged him. "No! He went completely white and froze and I had to think fast. I mean, I would have yelled but really, it was such a disaster... So I thought, we have two stars, we can't just say 'we dropped the pie, kind sir, pay up!'" Monica said in an unfortunate British accent, which made Chandler bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing.

"I picked up the pie and added more lemon juice on it. And I tried to make the other pies look like they were squashed too. We presented them to the guy as a surprise dessert and I called it 'The Imperfectly Perfect Pie' and guess what?"

"He asked you if you were Chandler Bing's wife and were inspired by his advertising savvy?"

She smirked at him. "He loved it! He thought it was genius and it turned out he was a food critic from San Francisco. I couldn't believe it."

"That's amazing, honey."

"I mean, it's weird. A month ago, I'm not sure he'd think it was genius. Is this what being a starred restaurant means? Every accident is labeled genius? I don't know how I feel about that."

Chandler pulled his cheek up in a sarcastic smile. "Oh, what a problem to have."

"Okay, I'll shut up. How were the kids?"

"Fun."

Monica frowned. "Is that a genuine fun or a sarcastic fun?"

"A genuine fun. I got them to calm down, we sang and danced, watched Nemo."

"Did Jack cry?"

"Yes, and I did too."

She grinned. "That movie is your kryptonite."

"And Andrew wants me to only call him 'dude' now."

Monica settled against his side, taking off her shoes and a sip of wine. "Aw, that's cute. Are they asleep?"

"Out like a log."

"I can't wait to take a couple of days off, I miss playing and having fun with them."

He smiled and kissed her hair. "I know, honey. Oh, speaking of which, when do you have a night off?"

"Tuesday. Why?"

"Well, this commercial came on … and an off-Broadway show of Cats is coming to New York."

"My first night off in two weeks and you want to go watch full-grown adults dressing in cat costumes, singing nonsense?"

"Honey, for the hundredth time, it's actors dressed like cats who sing like people. I mean, come on! Now that's what I label genius!"

Monica glared at him and took a deep breath. "You know I don't like cats, so imagine what I feel about the idea of voluntarily paying real money to hear them sing! I really don't get your fascination with this show."

"Erica loves the music, and remember, we have to encourage her interests just as much as we do with Jack. She wants to go see it, the kids want to. For the kids?" he asked with a pout and raised eyebrows.

Monica sighed. "Of course, you had to play the kids card. Fine, we'll go."

"I love you."

"Yeah, yeah. You know, one day, Erica will ask you to buy her a pony and all she'll have to do is bat her eyes and you'll get her one, you realize that?"

"Finally a grown-up excuse to buy a pony, I always wanted one."

Monica couldn't help a smile then she sighed. "Oh God, she'll sing Memory all the time after that. Curse those cats!"

"Why do you hate cats so much? It can't just be the allergy."

"Because cats betray you, Chandler. They're cold, ruthless, unemotional creatures. I used to love cats," she paused to reminisce dreamily, "my Nana's cat, Fluffy Meowington, I loved him. He was so cute, but then it turned out I was allergic and I couldn't spend nights in the apartment until he moved out with Nana."

Chandler looked at her and raised his eyebrows. "That's your cat PTSD story?"

She rolled her eyes in response. "Oh please, that's rich coming from Mr. Dogs-are-so-cute-they-scare-me."

He snorted. "Well, at least I love the things you hate and I hate the things you love. Aren't we made for each other?"

"Imperfectly perfect for each other." She put down her glass and kissed him slowly, his hands coming up to her face, tilting her and leaning forward while she leaned back until he was hovering over her on the couch, his sweatpants smooth against the insides of her thigh as he pushed up her skirt.

"How about we take this to our bedroom and I show you how compatible we are?" he said against her lips.

She let out a soft moan. "Took you long enough, I would have jumped you already if you didn't bring up cats."

* * *

Tuesday came and they drove to the West Village with the kids. The house lights of the Lucille Lortel theater began to dim only moments after Chandler, Monica, Andrew, and the twins took their seats in the audience, composed mostly of other families. Slow, melodic music began to play from the orchestra pit, and a single blue light illuminated the first Cat character alone onstage. Chandler smiled down at a mesmerized Erica while Jack looked mostly indifferent and Andrew was more entertained by the light effects.

The show's songs picked up in rhythm with fast-paced dancing and more spectacular costumes, and Chandler knew the kids were getting into the spectacle when he noticed Monica didn't need to open her bag of snacks.

"The whole show's premise is: look at us, we're cats, not dogs!" Monica whispered to her husband during the intermission.

Chandler laughed. "You know, I'm usually the sarcastic buzzkill but you're very good at it tonight."

"What can I say, this show just brings it out of me."

"And by the way, I could see you rolling your eyes very hard, be careful they don't get stuck, you might spasm like a cartoon character."

Monica smirked. "Are you listening to these lyrics? It's like they made them up on the spot."

He ignored her and instead looked at his daughter. "Erica, you're enjoying the show?"

"Can I be a cat, Daddy?"

"Well, you do enjoy napping."

"I want to pee."

"There's definitely no reason you can't be a cat, honey," he told her, kissing her head.

Monica took Andrew and Erica to the restroom for the second time as Chandler stayed behind with Jack in the hall, close by the inside of the theater in case the second act started, he walked a little with his son until he stopped in his steps, not quite believing the sight in front of him.

"Chandler?"

"Kathy?"

She was the last person he expected to see at a theater filled with kids. If Janice had the mystical power of appearing in his life every now and then, Kathy, on the other hand, had left with another man and never crossed his path again since she broke his heart. In the aftermath of the breakup, he had imagined every version of how they would meet again— the angry, the passionate, the blasé version―but the scenario where he would see her after more than a decade, with a ring on his hand and a gaggle of kids, had never crossed his mind once. It was a closed chapter, and seeing her was like a librarian dusting off a book from ancient times.

"Wow! Chandler, it's been an eternity," she said, her face lighting up.

"Yeah, it is. What are you doing here?" Chandler didn't mean to sound so defensive, resentment was a strange thing, it crept up even when you were certain memory had wiped out painful past events.

"One of my friends is on this show. He plays Mistoffelees."

He felt a little more relaxed as Jack squeezed his hand, reminding him of the present, the present was definitely resentment-free. "That's Jack's favorite cat. Isn't he, Jack?" he said, looking down at his son, suddenly shy and ducking his head away once the attention was on him. "He's a little shy," he said in an apologetic tone to Kathy. "Jacky, say hello?"

"Hi", Jack said quietly.

"Is he … your son?" Kathy asked in a tone Chandler perceived to be total disbelief.

"Yes, he is." He couldn't help a proud grin as he looked down at him again. "I'm actually here with my family."

There was an awkward moment following her stunned silence, and Chandler realized he'd have had a similar reaction if his ten-years-ago self had appeared to meet his present self.

"Your family? Wow, it's really been a while. Chandler Bing domesticated, huh?" She chuckled nervously.

"Stranger things have happened," Chandler said, turning his head to catch the sight of his wife and kids. "Oh, they're coming."

Monica appeared from the restroom with Erica ahead of her and Andrew holding her hand. "Erica, don't run!" she said as her daughter ran up to her father the minute she saw him. Monica was still focused on Andrew as Chandler kissed Erica's head.

"Honey, Andy is getting sleepy―oh, hi," Monica said as she looked up to find Chandler with the unexpected ghost from the past.

If his ten-years-ago self appeared right now, he'd be running for the hills already, Chandler thought to himself. "Mon, you remember Kathy?"

"Yes, I do now. How are you, Kathy?"

"Good, thank you," Kathy responded, and Chandler swore she looked intimated.

"Kathy, you know Monica. Well, she's _my_ _wife_," Chandler said with a Borat impersonation, one he regretted right away.

"That's a good one," Kathy said. "I'm not surprised you liked that movie."

"Guilty as charged."

They chuckled lightly, then Kathy looked at Monica with an amazed expression still on her face. "I can't believe you two are married. That's great, amazing … Your kids are adorable."

"Aw, they're all right," she replied, prompting the kids. "Erica, Andrew, say hello to the lady."

"Hi," Andrew said.

"Good evening, miss."

Monica rolled her eyes at her daughter's Miss Charming routine she displayed with strangers, and it always inevitably worked.

"I hope you're enjoying the show. A lot of people think it's cheesy but I always loved Cats," Kathy said in Chandler's direction.

"We are enjoying it, right, kids?"

"I love it! I sing just like Grizabella!" Erica said.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay. It could be better if it had a story."

"Too smart for his own good," Chandler said as he put his arm around Monica's waist.

"Hey, em, this is a little awkward, and probably a little late ... I guess seeing you after all this time is a real kick in the head. I'm sorry for the pain I caused you, you know, back when―"

"It doesn't matter. It's the past," Chandler said. He looked at his wife. "It was just a step on my way to happiness," he said, kissing Monica on the lips as she smiled shyly at him. "What about you, Kathy? How's life?"

"Oh, me? Still on my way to happiness, didn't get there yet. But I'm focusing on my career, I'm doing this play on the East coast."

"That's cool. Your career was always important to you."

"Yeah, it was … still is," she said, with a bit of longing.

This was so painfully awkward, he thought.

"Mommy, can I have more candy!" Andrew interrupted the deafening silence.

"Andy, you've had enough," Monica warned him.

Not deterred, Andrew turned to his father. "Daddy, I want candy."

"Listen to your mother, she's always right," Chandler said as Kathy smiled. "Oh I'm sorry, we have to, you know," he said, motioning toward the theater with his head.

"Oh yeah sure, sorry for keeping you. It was nice seeing you, have a great night!"

"Thank you, to you as well," Monica replied.

They turned and walked back inside the theater, getting back to their seats.

"Well, that was unexpected," Chandler said.

"Sure was. She looks great." Her tone of voice was cool and detached.

"She's okay."

"Okay? That's all?"

He sighed. "I don't know, Mon. Her hair is longer I guess."

Monica tilted her head. "You don't have to butter me up, you can admit she looks hot."

"Honey, I'm not buttering you up. She looks fine but she doesn't hold a candle to your hotness," he replied then turned over toward the kids. "Kids, please tell your Mommy she looks great, maybe she will believe you."

"You're beautiful, Mommy."

"You're very pretty," Jack said bashfully.

"Thank you, little bunnies."

Chandler looked at his wife intently and was about to ask her what was bothering her so much when the show started again. He noted Monica had stopped her cutting comments as the second act was nearing its end.

"You're awfully quiet."

"Well, Cats won me over in the second act because it is _so_ different from the first act."

"There you go."

When the play ended, Andrew was already asleep. Chandler held him carefully as they put the kids in their car seats, the ride jostled them and they were all sleeping peacefully as they drove home along the Hudson River. Chandler glanced at Monica, who looked thoughtful.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Yes, just tired."

"Just tired? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Chandler. Just tired. I'm sorry we aren't all as crazy about Cats."

He slowed the car down and looked at her. "That sounded … pointed," he replied. "Wait, are you … jealous?" he asked, almost incredulous.

She sighed. "No …" She took a deep breath. "And what if I was, I'm not allowed to?"

"What could you possibly be jealous of?" He grinned. "I told you honey, and I meant it. I am so grateful you're my wife and if I had to be screwed over by every New York woman on the way …. worth it. And come on, we ran into Janice more times than it should legally be allowed, really, what's so different?"

Monica frowned. "You're not the only one who gets jealous or insecure, Chandler. I'm not thrilled to run into any of your exes, Janice or not. And Kathy is different."

Chandler looked at her again, puzzled. "She is?"

"Yeah. You risked your friendship with Joey for her, you … She was the definition of your dream girl, wasn't she? She loved the same comedy as you, the same books …"

"Aw, honey."

"That's a pity Aw Honey. Please don't _Aw Honey_ me."

He let out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm not. Monica, you don't have to be so strong all the time. It's okay."

"I'm sorry," she said, slumping her shoulders. "I'm just really tired and cranky for some reason, and seeing her …"

"Mon, _you_ are my dream girl, you always were. You didn't even know it. I risked my friendship with Joey because I was stupid. I was obsessed with this girl I knew nothing about and thought I had to give her everything and risk everything because I was projecting a fantasy … I didn't know what I was doing. And you know, we liked the same things. So what? It doesn't mean anything. Now I know it really doesn't. She didn't really know me and I didn't really know her. I clung to the fantasy and got over-jealous and ridiculously possessive and she couldn't see or understand any of my insecurities. But you do, you _get_ me."

Monica pursed her lips. "Keep talking."

"And I _get _you," he said with a huge smile. "You never gave up on me when I freaked out and got all Chandler on you. Not once. Monica, look at me. You will always be my dream girl. You're my dream wife, and I still wonder what I did to deserve you."

She relaxed at his words, bashful all of a sudden. "It doesn't bother you that we have different tastes?"

"Of course not. You don't like Cats and you still came. I know nothing about wine and I still go to your wine tasting classes."

"I thought you liked wine tasting!"

"I like tasting wine _with you_," he quickly corrected. "We're like chocolate and peanut butter, different but together, it's the most amazing combination ever."

"Huh, solid culinary analogy, honey. I'm impressed," she said, reaching to squeeze his free hand.

"I mean," Chandler started, looking in the rearview mirror to check the children were still asleep, "based on our sex life alone … Nothing comes close. The proof is in the pudding. Loving you is a piece of cake―"

"You're ruining it now."

They laughed briefly and stayed in a comfortable silence until Chandler spoke up again. "Actually, you want to know something?"

"Yeah?"

"Before Kathy, I was seriously falling for you."

Monica rolled her eyes. "Seriously? Come on …"

Chandler grinned bashfully. "Remember, that whole beach thing?"

"Oh," Monica said, then shook her head. "But you weren't serious," she added dismissively.

"I wasn't and then I was? I started thinking what if you were my girlfriend, you know? At first, I thought that would be cool, and allowing myself to think about it made me realize that yeah, it wouldn't be cool, it would be freaking amazing."

She cocked her head to the side, smiling. "I had no idea."

"I know, I repressed it very well. I'm pretty good at that. Which is maybe why I made such a big deal of my crush on Kathy. I was sure there was no chance with you."

"You're saying your relationship with Kathy was a reaction to what happened in Montauk? Isn't that a little convenient?"

"Maybe. But it's still true. You know when Ross was dating Julie and then Rachel kissed him? At the end of the day, he picked Rachel because Julie simply wasn't Rachel. That's how I feel about you. I would have picked you, I mean if there was a choice to make."

"That's so sweet." Monica looked adoringly at him. "Why didn't you tell me before? I would certainly not have been so jealous running into her."

"I like it when you get jealous," Chandler smirked. "It's kind of hot."

* * *

"Wake up, Mommy. Wake up, sleepyheads!" Erica exclaimed to her parents as she jumped on the bed. "It's Christmas!"

"Christmas time!" Andy said, followed by Jack, jumping on the bed.

"What time is it?" Chandler grumbled under his breath as Erica positioned herself beside her mother, Jack on Chandler's side and Andrew in the middle.

"It's Christmas morning time, silly," Erica told him.

"And for the rest of us, it is …" Chandler sat up and looked at the clock with only one eye open. "6 A.M. Perfect."

"Can we open our gifts now?" Jack asked.

"Why don't we wait for your grandparents so we can play all together with the gifts under the tree and for now, you go brush your teeth?"

"Ok," they said dejectedly in unison.

"What time they'll get there, you think?" Monica asked Chandler as she got up and put her robe on.

"It's very sweet that you think they'll come together." Chandler sat up against the headboard. "Mom is at the Ritz so she should be here before dinner, as for dad, I'll call to see if there's any delays for his flight."

The kids came back into the room, now all three of them sporting Santa hats.

"Okay, we have another surprise for you, kids," Monica announced. "If you behave well today, tomorrow we'll go to the pet store and we'll get you a pet!"

Jack and Erica's eyes widened immediately.

"A dog!" Jack said.

"Cat!" Erica said practically at the same time.

"Houston, we have a problem," Chandler said to his wife.

"Turtle!" Andy said suddenly, and Chandler smiled, nodding toward Monica, visibly relieved. The idea also seemed to convince the twins.

"Well, you know," Monica started, "Daddy is allergic to dogs and I am allergic to cats. So, Eri, Jack, how about a turtle? You love the Ninja Turtles."

"Can we name him Michelangelo?" Erica asked.

"You have to agree all three on a name."

"We can call him Mikey," Jack suggested.

"I like Mikey," Andrew said.

"Can we give him an orange mask?" Erica asked.

Chandler laughed. "How about an orange collar?"

"Yes!"

"Mikey the turtle, it is."

* * *

"Hey, Mom, you made it!" Chandler said as he opened the door for his mother, dragging a cart of wrapped gifts.

"Don't be ridiculous, honey. Of course I made it," she replied, kissing him on the cheek and entering the house. "My driver is parked in the front yard, he's going to bring the rest of the gifts."

"_Mom. _Our backyard is already filled with Wendy houses, bikes, toys of all sorts―"

"Are you insinuating spoiling my grandchildren is an inconvenience to you, Chandler?"

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not."

They made their way to the living room, Nora greeted Monica and kissed the kids.

"Nora, there's still some dinner left if you're hungry," Monica told her.

"Thank you, dear. I love your cooking but I had a full steak dinner at the Ritz. Oh, by the by, congratulations on your two stars."

"Oh, thank you."

Nora turned to her son, looking at him intently. "Chandler, sweetie, just because your wife is an acclaimed chef, I hope you won't act like those insecure men intimidated by their brilliant wives."

"What?"

"Oh, Nora, Chandler has always been very supportive," Monica said as she joined him and put her arm around his waist. "He's only intimated when I beat him at sports."

"Thanks, honey."

"Well, how could I know, Chandler?" Nora defended. "I remember the day I got my RITA award, you were very embarrassed."

"Yes, mother. You getting an award for Steamiest Erotic Romance is exactly like my wife getting two Michelin stars."

"Food, in many ways, is an erotic experience. Right, Monica?"

Monica's eyes darted with uncertainty between her husband and mother-in-law. "I guess?"

The bell rang and she jumped on the chance to retrieve herself from the situation. "I'll get it," Monica said.

Chandler invited his mother to join the kids in the living room, then he recognized his father's raspy voice from the door.

Charles Bing joined them with Monica and his partner, Sal Garibaldi. "Hello Chandler."

"Hey, dad," Chandler said, getting up to greet the couple.

"Where are my grandchildren?"

"They're the ones with the chaos over there."

"I got gifts for you!"

"Yay!" The kids jumped from their spots, ready for another round of gift unwrapping madness.

"Hello Nora."

"Hi Charles ... hello Sal."

Chandler cringed, standing between his parents, until he felt Monica's presence behind him.

"Let's eat some cheesecake!" she said, much to her husband's relief.

After dessert, the family gathered around the fireplace, Charlie Brown's Christmas special playing on the TV. Jack and Andy were sitting with Nora, Monica and Sal Garibaldi.

Chandler got up to clean the strewed toys on the floor as Erica was working on her newest dollhouse near the kitchen.

"It's a shame Jack and Judy couldn't make it," Charles said to Chandler, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching him with a glass of wine.

"Yeah, they're in Hawaii. They're at that stage where traditions aren't so important and they're just enjoying their retirement days traveling the world."

"That's a good plan. What about Ross? We should have a whole dinner with both the Gellers and the Bings reunited, don't you think? That hasn't happened since your wedding."

"Well … Yes, why not. Couldn't go any worse than last time."

Charles put a hand over Chandler's shoulder "Your wedding was fantastic, honey."

Chandler offered a small smile and resumed his cleaning. "Erica, please pick up that small piece of furniture. If Daddy walks on it, he _will_ cry."

Erica laughed and went to pick it up. "Okay, Daddy."

"You're such a natural at this."

Chandler looked up startled at his father. "Oh. I―I don't do much. Monica really is the one―"

"Don't sell yourself short. You're a great father, Chandler. The ways the kids look at you … I wish you looked at me like that when you were young. But it's all you. This is all you. You have built a great life for you and your family."

He blushed, a smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks."

Charles nodded and looked down at the empty glass of wine.

"Should I get you another one?" Chandler asked.

"Oh no, I can only have one for special occasions like tonight, my doctor wouldn't like that I had two today."

"Your doctor?" Chandler raised his eyebrows. "Are―are you okay?"

"I am, son. Just some high cholesterol. My partying years catching up with me, so now I have to eat healthy and sleep early and all these boring things people do."

He laughed at that. "It's not so bad."

"Sal takes good care of me, as I imagine Monica does for you."

"Yeah," Chandler said longingly, looking over at his wife playing with Jack and his train set. "Hey Dad, thanks for flying all the way here. We appreciate it every time you come, but you know, having you and Mr. Garibaldi―I mean, Sal, it's nice. It's really nice," he said thoughtfully, that was one sentence he never thought he'd ever say when he was a child.

"It's my pleasure, son."

* * *

Chandler inserted a sheet of paper and set the carriage of his shiny, new Underwood typewriter machine and began to type, his whole face lighting up as he was sitting at the small desk of their bedroom.

"I have a feeling I will regret that gift," he heard Monica say behind his back.

"It's the best gift ever. I feel like Jack Kerouac."

He went back to typing, closing his eyes in appreciation for the clunky and mechanical sound of the keys.

"I have another gift for you. It couldn't be opened in front of the kids and your parents."

A smug smile appeared on Chandler's face as he stopped typing. "I'm intrigued," he said before turning his chair to face his wife who was leaning against the bedroom door. She was wearing a red lace teddy and walking enticingly toward him. As she stood before him, Chandler watched and smiled all the way down to his toes. He was a lucky man, he thought. She was also wearing the necklace he gifted her, it had two star-shaped diamond pendants in honor of her achievement. Monica loved pretty things and Chandler loved showering her with beautiful jewelry, over the years he picked up her taste and knew what would truly make her gush.

Monica sat on his lap, her hand playing with the hair of his nape. She leaned to kiss him, a short peck which turned into a longer kiss, with tongue and sound and the acceleration of their breath.

Chandler opened his eyes when they finally came up for air. "Ross called, by the way."

"Could you not mention my brother when I'm about to unbutton your jeans?"

He laughed. "He wanted to let you know him and Rachel made up, they're okay."

Monica rolled her head back, still clinging onto his shirt. "Do you think they'll ever stop fighting?"

"Probably not."

She nodded. "But they'll be fine, right?"

"Yes. They love fighting, but the only thing they love more than fighting is each other and Emma."

Monica grinned, her hand still playing with his hair. "Sometimes fighting is good, you know the make-up sex is good, once in a while, but ..."

Chandler cut her off as her voice trailed off. "But what we have is better."

"What we have is pretty great. Today was great, the kids are happy, your parents _looked_ happy."

He nodded and kissed her again, his lips resting on hers.

"I'm so happy right now," she mumbled, as the kiss lingered again. In the heat of the embrace, Chandler lifted her as she gasped and put her down on their bed. He climbed and hovered over her, her luminous blue eyes were fixating his with endless love and affection, the sound of her laugh floating away in the room.

"Then I'm happy."

He felt so very lucky indeed.


End file.
